


Wind Chimes

by dwacos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Brief mention of animal death, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, M/M, Past Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-War, Prostitution, Sharing a Bed, Veritaserum, lawyer Hermione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 13:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dwacos/pseuds/dwacos
Summary: After the War, employers were not falling over each other trying to recruit Draco Malfoy to work for them. In a desperate attempt to earn money for himself, he took to the streets and earns a reputation. When Aurors Harry Potter and Ron Weasley turn up on his doorstep, he can hardly believe that it's to help him, rather than arrest him.And when they tell him that Harry bloody Potter will need to live with him for the remainder of the investigation, Draco can't believe he didn't punch either of them. Because really, when there's an evil wizard trying to expose him to the world and this tosser is hell-bent on protecting him, how the hell can you expect him not to catch feelings?





	Wind Chimes

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm eventually posting this omg. I started writing this on the 27th of Jan 2017.....  
> if u would like to, [buy me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/ggecxo)

After the war, Draco Malfoy had had limited places to turn. His father had been sent immediately to Azkaban, not without good reason, and his mother had brought to the edge of insanity without him, yet with the bad memories and nightmares. He had been unable to return to Hogwarts to finish his final year, and no jobs had been available for him. Everywhere he went, he was turned down for his past, everybody unable to move on from the evil he had committed and accompanied.

It had been many years since the war now. Draco’s poor mother had sent him what was left of the Malfoy fortunes, which isn't as much as one would have thought after so much of it went towards getting Lucius the best treatment and reassurance of his survival in prison. Draco was supposed to inherit some of the Black family fortunes as well, but, lo and behold, that had all gone towards the Godly Boy Who Lived. As if the sod didn't have enough money as it was.

Draco had tried to forget about Potter, tried to forget about Hogwarts in general. Everything he felt, everything that he had experienced, all in the past and that is where it should remain, that's what he told himself. But seeing Potter in the papers everyday, Draco wished he could claw his own eyes out. He didn't want to be reminded of the things he did wrong, the deaths on his hands, the feelings that went unsaid. He couldn't bear to see that man again.

Without a steady job, though using the Malfoy inheritance to sustain a house for himself, Draco had found himself resorting to drastic measures. The boy had always been overly full of himself but really, he did know that he was very attractive. His pale, pure skin and bright blond hair complimented each other beautifully. With his lean, slim torso, a thicker lower body, and a mouth that could be used only for sin, Draco, after weeks of debating it with himself, thought it smart to start selling himself.

It started hesitantly, he was shy, a virgin despite what people said about Slytherins and what occurred down in the dungeons. He had found himself on a street corner, late on a Summer’s night, dressed in navy shorts and a light blue shirt, when a man in a car had driven up beside him. The man had called at him from the rolled down window, gazed at Draco like a starving man in front of a buffet.

“How much?” The man had asked, and although Draco was taken aback he found it in his best interest to allow his mouth to lead the way to his wealth.

“Are you sure you can afford me?” Draco asked him, something he didn't even need to put on an act for. He _would_ label himself as very expensive.

“You're gorgeous,” the man had said, ignoring his question and asking his own, “How many men you had before?”

Draco had briefly considered lying to the man then, worried that being a virgin may put him off due to lack of experience, but he reminded himself that innocence was sometimes proven very attractive, especially to older, perverted men like this one.

“None,” Draco said, voice low, his eyes half-lidded as he stared at him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he wondered whether or not it was actually going to happen.

The man had responded very eagerly, beckoning Draco into the car. He drove them to a quiet place, and the man had cast a couple charms so that they weren't to be disturbed.

Draco’s first time resulted in him getting thrown back onto the curb, ten galleons at his side and tears down his cheeks.

Today, Draco was a lot more experienced and a lot more expensive. He knew how to get what he wanted when he wanted. Men came back for more every week, sometimes even more frequently. He was becoming more and more well-known for his sexual antics. People had recognised him, and the Mark of course, and he'd even managed to make it into the papers.

 _‘War Villain Draco Malfoy Taken To Prostitution!_ ’ It had read, shockingly taking over the front page of the Daily Prophet. Apparently, his sex life and career were more important to the public than what Potter was buying at the grocery store. That was the really surprising part.

He sat down at his table, brushing the hair out of his eyes as he started to eat his cereal. Honey-nut cheerios were perfect for first thing in the morning, especially after a rough night.

Speaking of which, the man he had spent time with had apparently not left yet. It really pissed Draco off when they did that, think they're entitled to stay in his house for longer than necessary just because Draco yelled something along the lines of _you're the best I’ve ever had_. He says that to all of them.

Almost on command, the man walked out of the bedroom to the kitchen, dragging his meaty fingers across Draco’s bare back as he did.

“Where's my breakfast?” His tone was cocky and teasing. Draco’s jaw tensed and he took a deep breath to try to calm himself down.

“Preferably in the McDonald’s a couple of streets away,” he said.

The man walked behind Draco slowly. He placed his cold hands on Draco’s shoulders, pressing into them lightly. “You were much more pleasant last night.”

“That's my job. Kindly remove your hands off of me and then yourself from my property.”

“Oh, but haven't paid you yet.”

Draco raised his eyebrow. “I told you to put the money in the pot by the door when we came in.”

“I was in the mindset that _I_ was the one in charge last night, not you.” He dug his thumbs into Draco’s skin, but he wasn't going to give up quite so easily.

“Sir, why don't we put this to rest? I’ll suck your cock for a little extra charge, you pay me for everything and leave.”

“Let me spank you over the table. Then we’ll call it a day,” the man told him, right hand gliding down to Draco’s ass. He squeezed it promptly, and Draco rolled his eyes.

“Fine. But then you must pay for everything and leave. Don't come back.” He just wanted to get along with eating his breakfast. He was starved.

Standing up, Draco slowly pulled his underwear down to just under his ass, then placed his hands on the table and sighed. “Get on with it then.”

The man cracked his knuckles, and then Draco was very aware of a hand in his hair, pushing his face down against the wood. Draco was used to roughness, but bloody hell, the guy could've given him some warning.

The first slap came down much too hard. And the second, and the third. Draco could feel his ass bruising underneath this man’s palm, and it was really fucking hurting.

“Calm - Down!” Draco choked out, and the man stopped for a moment before carrying on, albeit a little softer.

“Gorgeous,” he spoke out, delivering one last smack before gripping the stinging cheek with his entire hand.

“Thank you. I’m aware. Now cough up. Seven hundred galleons plus two hundred for that.”

“You really are a demanding little whore, aren't you?”

Draco shrugged. “Have you met me?”

 

*

 

Draco was used to having a few men waiting for him on his usual pickup spot in the morning, but it seemed like today there were more than twenty people all lined up. People that had headwear and notebooks and, _oh_ , microphones. The penny dropped.

“Mr. Malfoy!” One of them shouted, and the entire herd’s heads turned to him. They ran and surrounded him, microphones and cameras pointed in his face.

“Mr. Malfoy, what have you got to say about the recent words from Mr. Harry Potter?”

“What?” Draco furrowed his eyebrows. “What's he said about me?”

“He said, and quote, ‘if Malfoy has resorted to prostitution in order to stay alive, so be it,’” the reporter cleared her throat. “And then, he proceeded to say, ‘who knows, I might give him a visit myself.’ What have you got to say about all of this?”

The shouting of questions arose again and Draco furiously blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. “W- Well, frankly I wasn't even aware that he had split with his wife, but- But I do not blame him for wanting or thinking about having a chance with myself. But it seems like the Boy Who Lived can't get everything.”

“Mr. Malfoy! You're saying that if Mr. Potter proposed to you any sum of money, you wouldn't sleep with him?” Another reporter asked him.

“He could give me financial aid for the rest of my life and I’d still rather fuck a mandrake,” he told them.

“So you are indeed confirming that you are a prostitute?”

“If that's what you wish to name it. I prefer gentleman of the streets, really. Is that all? I came here to do my job.”

The reporters didn't leave, asking more and more questions until Draco got angry.

“Merlin, can you all leave me be? Do you want to see me get fucked in a back alley or something? Not sure that'd be safe for the Daily Prophet to include. Please, piss off!”

And so Draco pushed passed them all, and waited in an alleyway until he could be sure that they had all left. He hung his head against the brick wall, groaning into his hands. Why would Potter have said that? Did he _want_ the press to be all over him? Was he even split from the Weasel girl at all?

A man in a blue trench coat walked over and slid himself into the alley, pressed up close against Draco’s body.

“Alright. How much for a blowjob?” The man asked, taking his hand and dragging his thumb across Draco’s bottom lip.

“Why, aren't we eager?” Draco responded with a tilt of his head. “Five hundred galleons. Give or take depending on where you finish.”

“On your face?”

“Six hundred,” he told him, his own two hands coming up to caress the man’s, and he brought the thumb into his mouth, slowly beginning to suck on it. “Pay first.”

And so the man did, taking out the money and stuffing it all in Draco’s back pocket. The men really shouldn't be surprised by how much he cost by now. He was practically infamous

“On your knees then,” the man said, taking his thumb out of Draco’s mouth. “Slut.”

A buzz ran through Draco. He didn't know if it was the job, or just himself, but he had really started to like being degraded. It turned him on, for some reason, but he supposed it was good since it made him perform a lot better.

He sank to his knees, the rough and rocky ground hurting his skin through his jeans but he didn't care, he even liked it a little. He reached up and began to undo the man’s trousers, slender fingers carefully and slowly unzipping them. He pushed apart the opening and began to press his mouth to the bulge underneath. He kissed it and licked the fabric lightly, and took the chance to look up at the man’s face, just to see how he was reacting to the teasing.

He wasn't met with the sight of the man’s face though. No, instead of that, he was met with a phone, recording everything he was doing.

“What the fuck!” Draco yelled, standing up immediately. “No filming!”

“But that's my job.” The man smiled and held out his ID. Draco’s eyes widened slightly as he realised that the man was one of the reporters from earlier, and he reached out to grab the phone.

“Delete that. Now,” he demanded when the man shoved the phone into his pocket.

“Sorry. No can do. But you can be rest assured that I won't put it on the front page of the Daily Prophet,” he promised him, and Draco folded his arms in a pout.

It wasn't the first time that Draco had been recorded while doing sexual acts. All times of which he had commanded them to delete, and all other times they did. This wasn't funny at all, and now Draco realised how stupid and naïve he'd been to have accepted the first man who approached him after being swarmed by reporters not ten minutes beforehand.

“Piss off. I'm keeping your money. Don't do anything with that.”

The man laughed and walked away, and Draco considered it lucky that he hadn't actually gone straight for taking the guy’s dick out. But, Draco thought, maybe the guy would be more reluctant to share that footage if he did. Merlin, this was a mess.

Draco apparated back to his house and made his way to the shower immediately. He stripped off his clothes and turned on the water flow, taking out his phone to scroll through some of his social media accounts while he waited for the water to heat up. Countless messages from perverts on all of his public ones, but that wasn't anything new to him. He supposed that the video of him was going to be all over the internet by tomorrow. Draco could always bring the guy to court, but he honestly couldn't be bothered. He had enough money already, and he doubted the court would be on his side anyway. A prostitute sexually assaulted? Surely not.

Draco rolled his eyes and put his phone down, stepping off of the marble floor into the white tiled shower. The water was boiling hot, just like Draco always liked it to be. It burned his pale skin, his body flushing bright red due to the overwhelming heat. He allowed the water to briefly spill over his face before he squirted some of his _Aesop Classic_ shampoo into his hands. He rubbed his hands together for a couple of seconds before spreading the residue over the top, and then the back of his hair. He ran his fingers through his hair lightly and began to hum to himself while he massaged all of the shampoo into his scalp.

The humming was the chorus from a Celestina Warbeck song. It was a song that he’d liked for the longest time. The woman was outstanding, and he really thought she'd have charmed her voice in some way. He continued to hum and stepped back under the stream of water, began to wash the shampoo out of his hair.

He switched out the shampoo with some _Redken All Soft_ conditioner now after stepping out of the water again. He cared about his hair too much.

He stopped there and screamed bloody murder as he felt conditioner drip down into his eye.

“Fuck!” he yelled, reaching for a towel. His hands eventually managed to find his fluffy saviour and he wiped his eye clean. He supposed that's what he gets for paying more attention to a muggle song than actually showering. He didn't care, and broke out into the chorus, dancing terribly under the hot stream as he started to wash the conditioner out.

That was the biggest benefit of living alone. Merlin, if anybody ever heard Draco doing that, someone would have to die and it would probably be himself.

“This feeling's utter bliss, yet something seems amiss, like a Dementor's Kiss… You're consuming me!” he croaked, loud and regrettably proud.

Draco’s jamming session to _You Charmed The Heart Right Out Of Me_ got unfortunately cut short. He was just about to lather on some _Tom Ford Oud Wood_ body wash onto himself when he heard a knock at the door. Probably his neighbour telling him to shut up. He sighed. The old goat was almost one-hundred and eighty now, shouldn't she be more hard of hearing?

He ignored it, continuing on with washing himself and singing, though much quieter.

“You may have not played fair, but, frankly, I don't care, ‘cause without you, I despair. Lost in misery!”

Ah, love songs. Draco had very much a love-hate relationship with love songs. On one hand, he absolutely despised them. The idea of other people being all loved up and happy with their partners made him bitter. He didn't see why it should be rubbed in other people's faces, in _single_ people’s faces.

But on the other hand, he loved them. He loved thinking about the fact that one day, that could be how he could be feeling about somebody. It wasn't like Draco was a lovestruck teenager, or that he had somebody he was in love with already. He just liked the idea of someday being happy. Settling down. He had a feeling it wasn't going to happen any time soon.

Draco got about washing his arms, scrubbing much harder over the Mark on his forearm. He always did that, in hope that someday it would come off completely. He didn't have high hopes.

He stepped out of the shower after washing off the suds and wrapped his hair and his waist in some towels. He dried himself off quickly and then began washing his face. He had a _very_ strict regime for his skin care.

After washing his face, he began to lather on a mint-green face mask, all over the skin up to his hairline. Now he just had to let it sit for twenty minutes, and he could continue. He brushed his teeth now, knowing he would be tired while doing it later.

He moved to his bedroom, staring down on the bed and groaning, knowing he'd have to wash the sheets. They were filthy.

He stripped the bed and shoved everything in the laundry basket, then got to replacing them when he heard another knock on his door.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to contain his anger, and walked slowly to the door. He opened it, looking down.

“Honestly, Mrs. Bumble, it's very late at night, don't you think– Oh.”

Who was at the door was definitely _not_ Mrs. Bumble, the creaky old lady from next door. Instead, two very familiar Aurors stood in front of him, clearly judging him for his face mask.

“Potter. Weasley. What do you want?” He asked, avoiding eye contact and positioning himself behind the door. He felt vulnerable now, undressed and clearly in the middle of something. Seeing Potter in person for the first time in years made him feel slightly giddy, and he found that extremely rude. He cursed at himself inwardly.

“We’re here on business,” Weasley told him. Draco raised his eyebrows.

“Your kind or mine?”

They both sneered. Weasley spoke again. “Don't be gross, Malfoy. We’re here to tell you that a wizard has been spreading pictures of you online.”

Draco sighed. “That reporter from today? I suppose I knew it was going to happen. Oh well, it could have been worse.” He shrugged. “Leave me alone now. I don't want to press charges or anything.”

“No,” Potter spoke up. “A lot of pictures of you. Clearly, they weren't taken with your knowledge.”

Draco frowned, hiding his arm. “What do you mean?”

“Up to fifty pictures of you have been put on social media as of... About an hour ago,” Potter said. Draco gulped. “They include you in many rooms in your house, and look like they've been taken outside of your windows.”

Draco sighed and nodded after a moment, then stepped aside. “Uh- Come in. I’ll put something on and- yes,” he rambled, and heard Weasley whisper a quiet ' _thank Merlin.'_

He closed the door behind them and let them find the living room by themselves, rushing to his bathroom and washing off the face mask. He sighed. What a waste.

He threw off his towels after walking to his bedroom and pulled on some underwear, dark purple and tight, but not a pair that he wore when entertaining. No, thankfully, these were a pair that favoured comfort over appearance. Taking out some black leggings and a lime-green jumper, he pulled them on and yanked his sleeves down before walking out.

“So,” he said, sitting down on the couch opposite the two men. He smirked to himself discreetly. He had forgotten to wash those pillows after last week. “Tell me more.”

Weasley and Potter looked at each other for a moment, before the former began to speak up again. “Like we said, up to fifty pictures of you have been released onto an account on a muggle website called Twitter. These pictures go from… You in... Compromising positions... By yourself and with a partner.” He cleared his throat. “Or two.”

Draco sat unaffected. He pulled his sleeves over his hands and leaned against them. “Okay... How many people have seen these?”

“Well... Each one has an average of about four hundred ‘likes,’ but that doesn't mean how many people have seen them. We can't know for sure,” Weasley told him.

“Spreading these in itself is a big offence, as well as taking the pictures and spying... But we think it's more than that,” Potter said. “The person has also uploaded photos of you, but... They're normal photos. They're you completely dressed, just doing everyday tasks. This leads us to believe that you have a stalker. Due to the different outfits you're wearing, we can say that he's been watching you for about two weeks now.”

Draco bit his lip nervously. That really was quite scary. “Well- Do you have any idea who it could be?”

Potter shook his head. “There's a wide range of suspects considering your past and your profession.”

Weasley continued, “Could be somebody angry from the war. Could be somebody who you refused to give... Service to, or who you didn't fully satisfy. Can you think of anybody like that?"

“I can tell you that I can't think of anybody who I haven't satisfied in the past three years. As for turning people down... I turn down everybody who doesn't have enough money for me.”

“.. Right.” Weasley sighed. “Don't really see why you're so expensive.”

“Is that you asking me to show you, Weasel?” Draco tilted his head.

Potter coughed to interrupt them, shaking his head at his partner before he could say anything back.

“Would you rather I show you instead, Potter?” he said. Potter scowled. “In case you didn't realise, I don't keep a list of names who ask to have sex with me. Not really something we do.”

“We?” Potter asked.

“Whores.”

Potter’s jaw clenched and he looked away, writing something down.

“Somebody will need to stay with you until we find out who this person is,” Weasley told him. “As in, live with you.”

“No.” Draco shook his head. “I refuse.”

“Do you want to get murdered?” Potter asked, voice turned stern.

“It will mess with my business!” Draco exclaimed. “People will think I am involved with them!”

“Well, then you'll have to put your business on a pause for now.” Potter argued. “That's probably for the best anyway.”

“Oh, is it really?” Draco asked, leaning forward now. “My main source of income, my _only_ source of income and you think it's smart to stop for what could take months!”

“Malfoy is right, Harry,” Weasley said. “And if he stops then it'll look suspicious.”

“Thank you!” he said in relief. “Merlin. So who would be staying with me anyway?”

“Someone who is on the case,” Weasley told him.

“Either Ron or I,” Potter said.

“Ron then,” he said, at the very same time as Weasley said, “Harry.”

“I would really rather not spend _any_ time with _either_ of you two.” Draco sighed. “Is it necessary? Can't you just go up to wherever the pictures are taken from and just… Wait for the pervert?”

“Risky. There's a lot of places where he takes them from and if we position one person in one of the places, he could see and know we’re looking for him,” Potter explained.

“He?”

“Balance of probability,” Weasley said. “Easy enough to satisfy men, probably why you haven’t branched out to women yet.”

“Honestly, if you really think I’m not that _satisfying,_ you have another thing coming, Weasley,” Draco said. “Do you know how much people spend on me?”

“Too much,” he told him. “That's a fact.”

“Tch. Almost one thousand galleons per fuck. I think I would've had a lot of complaints by now if my clients didn't think I was worth that much.”

“I don't understand how somebody can be amazing at fucking compared to anybody else.” Weasley frowned.

“Yes, well, you've only ever been with Granger. I feel sorry for her.”

Potter sighed, letting his head fall into his hands.

“Well, I have a wife. So.. I can't exactly stay. However, Harry does not. So it'll probably be him.” Weasley shrugged.

“Why did you split with the Weaslette?” Draco asked Potter. “Thought that was going well?”

Weasley told him, “None of your business really.”

Draco nodded. “Fair enough. Now.. I want to spend as little time as possible with Potter. So get on it. Quickly.” He stood up, stretching out his arms and yawning. “I’m tired now. So, you two can leave. Potter, when will you have to move in?”

“As soon as possible,” he replied. “I’ll go and get my stuff now.”

“Fine. Move it all in yourself. I'm going to sleep.”

Draco walked away and headed to his bedroom again, taking off his jumper just before going through the door. He shut the door behind him harder than necessary and groaned, leaning his head against the black wood. Tired and irritated, he pulled on his baby-blue, silk nightshirt and began to button it up. He thought for a moment, debating on whether or not to continue with his nightly skin routine or not.

He decided against it, too exhausted for now.

Draco was ready to get himself into bed when he remembered that he had stripped the bed earlier. He huffed and waited for a moment before opening his door again to go and retrieve some new sheets and pillow covers. He looked around first, just in case Potter and Weasley were still there. He honestly couldn't believe that he would be having to live with that scruffy, full of himself _Hero_ for the next how many weeks. It was going to be horrible. He didn't want Potter to judge him for the things he did with his clients. He didn't want Potter to overhear his moans, and his whines, and his begging. But most of all he just didn't want to share a living space with the man.

It would be too familiar, too much of a reminder of what could've been, what might've been if Draco would've just been smarter, braver. It wasn't as much of a secret as Draco would've liked it to have been, the fact that he had a massive crush on Potter throughout their years at Hogwarts. He doubted that Potter actually knew. That boy was as oblivious as a Mubarak. But it was still well-known by his classmates. He hated it.

He had been forced into the Dark Lord’s path, he had no choice, but that definitely wasn't how everybody else had seen it. There had been more than a few occasions now where Draco had been pinned down by somebody who hated him, who had wanted revenge for those that had died during the war. Most Death Eaters now were either dead or in Azkaban, so Draco was the easiest to access. There had been times now where Draco had almost been killed by his bed-partners. He didn't care, didn't report it. Just apologised to them until they did as they wanted and left. He didn't make those clients pay.

There was no doubt that Potter would still hate him for all of it. Draco didn't deserve his friendship. Not even his acknowledgement. Let alone his… _Affection._

Draco shook himself out of his train of thoughts, walking to his store cupboard and pulling out a large, fluffy quilt, fit for his bed. He put that on the floor and proceeded to pull out two matching pillows. He threw those down next to the quilt and shut the cupboard, wanting to get back to his room quickly, before Potter returned.

He scooped them all up into his arms and waddled back to his room, picking up the pace once he noticed the door handle turn.

He was too slow. The door opened and Draco was so taken aback that he managed to step on the trail of the sheets by accident, falling over flat on his face.

He wasn’t embarrassed. He wasn’t embarrassed. He _definitely_ wasn’t embarrassed.

He heard Potter laugh. At first, he thought that it would be in patronisation, but he recognised the tone of it. It was warm, and not at all full of hate. It was the laugh that Potter would share with Granger or Weasley, when one of them messed up on something and they were laughing _with_ each other and not _at_ each other. Draco had never experienced that kind of laugh with Potter before.

Then again, he might've been imagining it.

“Malfoy?” Potter spoke, closing the door behind him and putting down his suitcase and bag.

“What is it, Potter?” Draco asked, voice muffled by his face being pressed to the floor.

Potter laughed again. “Do you need some help there?”

“No,” Draco lied, too proud to ever allow himself help. He lifted himself up, stubbornly avoiding eye contact. He felt his cheeks turn a bright crimson, crawling up his neck and even to the tips of his ears.

“Draco, let me help you up.”

Draco found himself startled then - Draco? Since when did–

“Since when did you call me Draco?”

“Since we started living together. Don't you think we should at least try to be civil? Look...” Potter extended his arm, holding out his hand. Draco was reminded of when he did that to Potter the very first time he met him. He had been violently rejected.

Try to be civil. Draco took a deep breath and finally looked up at him. He immediately regretted it. Draco would swear that those eyes were a trap.

He let Potter take his hand and was slightly amazed by how effortlessly he got pulled to his feet. He gulped. He can't get involved. Don't get involved.

“Thank you,” Draco whispered, his fingertips unintentionally lingering on Potter’s palm before he retracted them sharply.

“Don't worry about it. Do you want help putting these on your bed?”

Draco shook his head quickly. “No. I don't. Um. Your spare room is just down the- down the hall. Third door on the right. The second door is a bathroom for you. Goodnight.”

With that, Draco picked up the pillows and quilt and walked into his room in a hurry. He threw his things over his bed and closed his curtains, something he assumed he should get in a habit of doing.

Draco slid into his bed, pulling the quilt over his body to protect himself from the cold. He let out a shaky breath before shutting his eyes and letting sleep take over before he had a chance to start thinking about Potter again. His cheeks still felt hot.

 

*

 

Draco awoke to the sound of the television on in his living room. He was confused for a good twenty seconds before he remembered his new living arrangements. He sighed and sat up, rubbing his eye and running his fingers through his hair.  

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, taking a moment to find his balance. His curtains were wide open and the sun glared in on his face. He squinted, then furrowed his eyebrows. He could've sworn that he'd closed those. He walked out of his bedroom and hesitated to continue walking when he saw Potter sitting down on his couch, watching some muggle television show. He didn't notice Draco, so he continued walking to the kitchen. He took out some bread from his freezer and inserted it into his toaster, retrieving some butter from his fridge while he waited.  

The kitchen and the living room had no wall between them, so Draco found himself able to stare at Potter as much as he liked before his toast finished.

Potter’s hair was so messy, Draco thought to himself. But it looked just as it always did. That made sense, Draco figured that he never did anything to his hair normally anyway.

His thoughts were interrupted as he got surprised by a loud _pop!_ from the toaster. His breakfast was finished, finally, but Merlin, it scared him.

And it apparently surprised Potter too, as the man had jumped up from his seat on the sofa immediately and pointed his wand at Draco. Draco’s reaction was to grip at the counter and shut his eyes, trying to brace himself for a curse.

Nothing hit him, and he caught his breath before opening his eyes hesitantly. Potter was lowering his wand, staring at Draco. Neither of them said anything for a moment before Potter shoved his wand back in his pocket and said, “That's a loud toaster.”

Draco composed himself quickly, standing up straight and trying to calm himself down. He didn't say anything back.

“Why didn't you say anything when you came in? You scared me half to death,” Potter asked him, and Draco narrowed his eyes.

“I wasn't aware that I was supposed to make myself known in my own home,” he told him.

“You're not. But some acknowledgement of your guest would be nice.”

Draco took a deep breath before walking forward. “Listen here, Potter, you are not my _guest._ I didn't invite you here, you invited yourself, I do not want you here. You're disrupting my life and my job. So don't you tell me what to do. And if you pull your wand out on me again then you _will_ be out of my house before you can say troll. Are we understood?”

Potter scowled at him. “No, _Draco,_ we aren't. If you want me to go and leave this stalker pervert here with you, then so be it. But Merlin, you really need to learn some manners. I'm trying my best to be civil with you but you're being difficult. Let me do my job and I’ll be out of your hair as quickly as possible.”

Draco continued to glare at him, before turning around and noticing that his toast had now burned.

“Fine.” Draco sighed, pulling the burnt toast out of the toaster and dropping them onto the plate. “But just - Understand this. When I go out to get a client, you stay in your room. You stay in there until I come inside and tell you that you can come out. Your room is the only place that you can be sure that I won't go into with whoever it is. That's all I need you to do.”

Potter sighed. “No promises. It might interfere with the investigation. But I’ll do what I can.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“Perfect.”

“Fantastic.”

Potter sat back down and continued to watch his Muggle show, while Draco began to butter his sad excuse for a breakfast.

Draco went on with his day then. He didn't talk to Potter at all for the majority of it. He had a shower and dressed in his shorts and long-sleeves shirt, and pulled on his shoes. He shoved his phone in his back pocket and walked towards the front door.

“I’m going out now,” Draco told him, to which Potter nodded.

“Where to?”

“Edge of Knockturn. Where else?”

“Be careful,” Potter told him. “You know what it's like ‘round there.”

“Why, yes, Potter. I do know what it's like. I _have_ been working there for several years now, thank you.” Draco rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him.

He made his way to Knockturn Alley again, apparating there once around a corner where nobody could see.

“Hello there, darlin’,” Draco heard as soon as he landed. “Don't you look good enough to eat.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am.” Draco smiled at her.

“What're you doin’ here? These are nasty parts, sweetie.”

“Business, ma’am.”

“That sounds promisin’. How much?”

“I’m afraid I’m reserved only for men, ma’am. I do apologise.”

“Hm. What a waste. You woulda made some gorgeous babies.”

“That's definitely not in my interest.” Draco laughed. “Have a nice day.”

“You too, darlin’.” She nodded and walked away.

Draco spent the next half hour trying to weed out the rich in the crowd. Once he had, (he was very good at it,) he then spent ten minutes trying to seduce a man away from his wife. It had worked.

“What're you doing, luring me away from my Nancy... Look at you, you're nothing compared to her,” the man said, his hands sliding over Draco’s body.

“You wanna fuck me like I’m nothing, Sir? I bet your Nancy doesn't let you do that. She doesn't let you be as rough as you want, does she?”

“I have an hour before I have to get back to her. I'm not fucking you in an alley… Do you have a house?”

Draco ignored the pompous attitude of the man and nodded, apparating them both to his front door. He opened the door quickly as the man began to ravage his neck.

“Just so you know-” Draco panted, manoeuvring them both inside. “I’m very expensive.”

“Oh yeah? Why is that?”

“You'll see.”

Thankfully, Potter was nowhere to be seen, tucked away in his bedroom just as he had been asked. He would hate for Potter to see him like this, but unfortunately, he would probably be forced to listen. To listen to Draco moaning obscenely, calling out _Sir_ and occasionally even _Daddy_ , and _please please please!_

He felt sorry for him. Probably wouldn't even be able to look him in the eye afterwards.

The man left exactly an hour later, kissing Draco’s forehead and patting a good amount of galleons on his chest before apparating out of his room, presumably back to his wife. Draco didn't usually like taking away married men from their partners but they were always so fun, and dirty, and always paid well out of fear of the affair being exposed.

Draco stood and slowly walked to his en-suite, washing his face and his stomach clean of any residue. He took a deep breath and stared at himself in his mirror. There was always a small feeling of shame after he had sex, bubbling right in the pit of his stomach. It doubled when it was with someone taken.

He wandered out of the bathroom and redressed himself, putting on some baggy branded bottoms and a plain grey sweater. Opening the door, he strolled out of the room and towards Potter’s.

He knocked twice. “Potter? The coast is clear. You can come out.”

Draco heard some shuffling around before the door opened, and Potter came out, flushed and obviously embarrassed. Draco understood why. He was very red himself at the moment and hoped that Potter didn't say anything about it.

“Thank you for staying inside there. I appreciate it,” Draco told him, and Potter nodded.

“Don't worry about it. I know you'd be pissed at me if I didn't, anyway.”

“What's the time?” Draco asked, looking around for his clock.

Potter got there before him, looking down at his wristwatch first.

“Just gone twelve in the afternoon.”

Draco nodded and yawned, looking down and hesitating before speaking again. “Would you like something to eat?”

Potter stared at him, clearly surprised, then smiled. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Would– What do you like to eat?” Draco fumbled, making his way over to the kitchen. “How hungry are you?”

“Let's just say I’ll eat anything that's put in front of me.” He chuckled.

“I'll just make a small portion of spaghetti then.”

“Thanks.” Potter threw himself down onto the couch again. “I didn't know you liked to cook.”

“I learned when I left school. And you know, since the whole House Elf law was passed, I can't have any for myself. I can't starve now, can I?”

“That's true.”

“I know.”

Draco quickly got to cooking and left Potter to do whatever he wanted while he scurried about in the kitchen. He had gotten to finishing the preparations and readying the sauce when he drew his attention back to Potter.

“It'll be about half an hour for everything to be ready,” Draco called to him and only then noticed that the man wasn't where he thought he'd been, sitting on the couch like some sort of man potato.

“Potter?” He shouted again and sighed. He wandered to Potter’s bedroom, the door shut closed. His hand found the door and he knocked on it twice.

“Potter, are you in there? You better be. You know, it's very rude to leave while somebody's in the middle of making you food. You didn't even know how much time you had.” Draco leaned against the door, talking to seemingly nobody. “Though I suppose you're so ill-mannered that you don't care about what's impolite and not. Or you just don't know. A bit like a farmyard animal, aren't you? What would you be? A chicken wouldn't suit you, Gryffindor bravery and all. How about a pig? You did say that you eat everything that's put in front of you. How about… Come to think of it, you do look a bit like a—”

Draco was cut short as the door opened and he ended up falling backwards, only shortly catching himself before he accidentally fell into Potter’s chest. That would've been awkward. Especially considering that, oh, oh wow, the man was indeed very shirtless.

“I was trying to take a short nap.” Potter frowned. “I haven't had a proper night's sleep in over three weeks, I need my naps.”

“You- You sound like a toddler,” Draco deadpanned.

“You sound too loud. Wake me up when the food is ready, mhm?” Potter said and closed the door in Draco’s face.

In response, Draco shouted, “you look absolutely gormless without your glasses, Potty!”

He stormed back to the kitchen, vowing that he wasn't going to cook for Potter again. He should at least keep him company now that he was going to be staying with him, and when Draco went out of his way to make him food!

He stirred the spaghetti around for a while and made sure the sauce was getting along fine. It was odd, he was so used to cooking alone but five minutes without Potter here and it got terribly lonely.

Stupid. He wasn't going to think like that now.

The food wasn't going to take a lot more time than that, so he organised everything onto the table.

They sat down together, tension thick in the air. Neither of them had made an attempt on conversation since Draco called Potter for his food, and he was slightly glad. It was all feeling very domestic.

“You know,” Potter started, Draco’s eyes shot up in a glare. “Prostitution is a criminal offence in Muggle Britain.”

“Delightful talk for the table, Potter, truly. I appreciate that.” Draco took a sip of his water, trying not to make eye contact now.

“Why do you do it?” Potter pressed.

“Because I have no other source of income. I could’ve sworn we've been over this. Not that it's any of your damn business.” Draco said, and furrowed his brows. “Why are _you_ still an Auror? You were rich by age eleven, singlehanded. You don't need this job, you can just go right into early retirement.”

“Because I still feel the need to—”

“To save people's lives, blah, blah, blah. The hero, back at it again. Look at me, I’m Harry Potter, and I need to keep saving everyone’s lives and I need to lock up all of the bad guys because I haven't done enough in my life to show that I am all for the law, and I am a _good guy._ ” Potter stared at him, obviously taken aback by the sudden outburst. He didn't respond. “Since we’re all about asking questions this afternoon... What you said in the Prophet. Is it true?”

“What now?”

Draco let the corner of his mouth tug up. “You said you'd like to ‘have a go’ at me.”

“I have no recollection of saying that,” Potter told him, shaking his head slightly. “Is it that surprising to think that the Prophet may lie about certain things? Merlin. That would make for a brilliant story though."

Draco scowled. “What? Enemies, the Boy Who Lived and the Ex-Death-Eater-Whore fuck occasionally and now, guess what! They're even fucking living together. Yeah, the papers would have a field day with that.”

“Why are you so angry?” Potter asked him, flashes of pity showing through his expression.

“I _told you._ I don't know about you, but I do not want you to be here! I don't want anything to do with you! I thought finally I could live away from you, in separate places, in separate—”

“Quiet.” Potter was looking down at something, obviously not even paying attention to what he was saying.

Draco’s eyes blew wider than he thought was possible. He rose to his feet and slammed his hands down on the table. “Did you just tell me to be—”

“Draco, can you just shut up a second?” Potter was still not looking at him. He raised his phone to his ear after a couple of seconds. “Ron? Yeah. I've seen them. I know. Yeah, I’ll fill him in. Thanks.”

Draco’s eyes remained on Potter’s face throughout the short phone call. “Fill me in on what?”

Potter sighed, handing his phone over to Draco across the table. Draco took it, his eyes lingering on the man’s face before he took a look at the screen. More than ten new photos of him from the night before had surfaced onto the web. Photos of him changing, replacing his bedsheets, even sleeping. He didn't know what to say, just stared at the screen as he scrolled through the photos.

“Did you seriously forget to close your curtains? When is this happening?” Potter asked him. His expression was incriminating. Draco shook his head.

“I know I did. I know I closed them. I woke up and they were open, though,” he told him. “I didn't think anything of it.”

Potter furrowed his brows, taking back his phone from Draco and standing up. “Show me.”

So Draco led him to his bedroom, the stench of sex not missing either of their noses as they entered. Draco acted unaware. Potter copied.

“Look,” Draco instructed, pointing to the window.

“Huh..” Potter hummed to himself. He stepped closer to it, manoeuvring the curtains a little. “There is no way these would have blown open, and if the window was shut all night..” He pushed up his glasses a little and turned back to Draco. “Someone was in here. To open them. That is if you're absolutely sure that you did close them.”

“I'm positive,” Draco said, his expression twitching with fear.

“You don't need to be afraid, it seems that he has no intention of hurting you."

“Yes, for now! What happens if next time he comes in he _does_ try to do something!?”

Potter sighed, brought out his phone again. “We’re going to need to check and change the locks on your door and windows. In the meantime, perhaps you should sleep in another room.”

“I only have one spare bedroom, Potter. And that's currently occupied by you.”

“You can’t stay in your bedroom, it’s too dangerous. He knows how to get inside, even if it might be through the window itself. You’ll be sleeping in the guest room. I’ll stay in there with you for protection."

“You what?”

“We’ll be staying in your guest room,” he repeated.

He thought about what that meant and didn’t let his face grow any hotter than necessary. He tried to control his breathing. Draco sighed after a moment, placing his head in his hands. “Wonderful. I’ll be sharing a bed with _the_ Harry Potter."

“I never said—”

“What, do you intend to sleep on the floor for the entirety of your stay? Don't be ridiculous.”

“I’ve endured worse than a hard floor.”

“You said that I need to be more civil, so here I am, being more civil. You’re not sleeping on the floor,” Draco told him. “That’s final.”

Potter smiled, nodding his head a little. “Thanks, Draco.”

“Whatever.” Draco rolled his eyes and turned away from him as he brought his phone back up to his ear. He knew his cheeks were bright red and thanked Potter for not bringing it up.

Draco couldn’t believe this. That somebody he didn’t know had been in his bedroom, had watched him sleeping. He pondered over whether it had been the first time this had happened, if there had been other times like this where Draco had just passed over it, told himself it was nothing to worry about.

He walked out of the room, taking out his own phone and heading onto the Muggle site. _Twitter_ , he remembered it being called, and searched for his name. He wanted to look at all the pictures, to see what the world had now seen. What _Potter_ had seen of him.

There they were. He opened the file and immediately was hit with a rush of shame. There really were a whole lot of photos, and recent ones at that. Draco being bent over the table in the morning the day prior, his cereal abandoned and soggy next to him. There were photos of him flouncing around in his large jumper and leggings, face mask painted on. That was when Potter and Weasley were in there with him. The culprit must have known that something was up.

Whilst none of these so far were terribly explicit, even the ones in the kitchen, since nothing but spanking was happening, Draco had not yet finished scrolling through all of the photos. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to.

He swiped across again and he covered his mouth in shock. The rich man from earlier, Nancy’s husband, Merlin bless her soul. Both his and Draco’s faces were clear as day, as was what they were doing. In some, Draco’s face was turned away, but the majority showed it either sideways or full on. He was laying on his back in them, Nancy’s husband holding his legs open, and you could probably infer what else was going on. Draco zoomed in on his face in the photo, and to his surprise, it was amazingly good quality, almost as if it had been taken on a professional camera that caught wildlife footage, like what Draco had seen on television.

If these pictures spread quickly then there was no denying that Nancy was going to find out about her husband and him. Seems like Draco’s rule about not meddling with married men had seen that he’d done wrong and come back to bite him in the ass. Though, was Draco really the one in the wrong? It’s not like _he_ was the one who had cheated or anything. Perhaps this was just what Nancy’s cheating husband deserved, to be outed like that and have it not be directly Draco’s fault.

But he had known about his marital status. The guilt in his gut grew stronger.

“Draco?” Potter walked out of the room, and Draco swiftly locked his phone, hoping that he hadn’t caught glimpse of what he was looking at. Did it matter? He’d already seen every photo anyway.

“Yes?”

“I just got off the phone with Ron,” he said. “With your permission, we’d like to put up security cameras around your house.”

Draco blinked at him.

“We understand if you’re not comfortable doing this…” Potter went on, as if trying to convince him. “But since the culprit comes inside your rooms then we think it’ll be a good idea to set these up, to try and catch him on film.”

Draco looked away from him, not sure what to think. He wanted to catch the pervert, of course he did, and this was one surefire way to ensure that he got caught. However, this also meant that all of Draco’s promiscuous escapades were going to be caught on these security cameras and monitored closely, probably close to constantly. Almost certainly monitored by Potter himself.

“I don’t want to,” Draco said. “I don’t want you and all of your Auror friends watching that and judging me.”

“We won’t judge you, Draco,” Potter said. “It’ll only be me watching it, if you want. Nobody else needs to see. That will be in your privacy agreement.”

Draco took a deep, deciding breath. This was going to affect his work even more so, he knew it. Potter just loved to waltz in places and mess up his life, didn't he? If a client found out that he had been filmed while fucking Draco, he would go completely out of business. It would _ruin_ him.

“I can put up charms that will hide the cameras,” Potter offered to him. “If that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Fine,” Draco said. “I give up. I just want this fucking thing over with.”

“Well. I’m sorry. If that’s any consolation?”

“My life is suddenly so much better, thank you,” Draco responded coldly, fist clenching. “I understand that you’re trying to help, I do. But at this point, I wish you weren’t.”

“Would you rather be killed?” Potter asked him, sympathy no longer as evident in his expression. “Or raped? Have these photos keep coming out? Even if the Ministry weren’t intervening, this whole thing would ruin your career. You’ll get money from the culprit when he gets sentenced by the Wizengamot anyway. We _are_ trying to help, Draco, we aren’t here to ruin your life.”

Draco looked away. He was always emotionally weak but had to hide it over the wartime. His bottom lip quivered and he tried to bite his tears back. He spoke again, his voice cracking slightly, higher pitched than normal, “I don’t know what to do.”

Potter sighed, clearly unsure of what the boundaries were. He would have given anybody else a quick hug for comfort, but he didn’t know where the line was with Draco. That was understandable.

“Continue as normal, and let me do all the work, okay? But perhaps try and have… Do your job with your clothes on, or something?”

“They usually take control. I don’t have a choice in what I wear.”

Potter nodded. “I really am sorry. I think it is best if you just continue as normal but we will do our best to ensure your safety.”

Draco chuckled a bit, rolling his eyes. “You say ‘we.’ Weasley doesn’t actually care, does he?”

“He’s going through all of the suspects. He does care. He doesn’t like you, but he doesn’t want this to happen to you. But I think he can stand without having to look at naked photos of you for research."

“Would anybody enjoy that, really?”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you be modest.” Draco shrugged, and Potter continued, “you’d be surprised.”

“What?”

“I mean, with the amount of people you… bring back here. They obviously find you attractive.”

Draco rolled his eyes again and sat down on his couch. “They don’t sleep with me because they find me attractive.”

“That’s… Not very accurate.”

“They sleep with me because they want somebody experienced and I’m good at it. Very good at it. That doesn’t mean that they want to see it.”

Potter looked at him a while longer, before shaking his head and laughing. He walked away, speaking again, “I’ll go look about those cameras.”

 

*

 

Harry had been inquiring about the cameras for a few hours. Draco wasn’t one to worry that much, especially for Harry Potter, but he hadn’t eaten much. With a big build like Potter had, surely he had to eat a lot more, so that he could sufficiently keep up with his work out schedule and body… Draco decided to make him some more food. He really didn’t know why he felt so responsible.

He got about making a meal, and he was really feeling chicken. A lemon skillet dinner. Perfect.

He had set the table and seriously debated whether or not a candle in the centre of the table was too far. He decided it was, and placed a few candles on the breakfast bar instead. After all, it was dark out, and electricity bills these days were tragic…

He didn’t even have to call Potter to dinner, as the man was just as aroused by the scent of the food now as he had been in Hogwarts; like a pig, Draco swears. Just like a pig.

He watched Potter trot to the table, an excited look on his face. “This smells delicious,” he said.

“It is,” Draco replied. “I’ve had many people tell me.”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Making me supper. You didn’t have to.” Potter smiled at him.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you starve, was I? You’re helping me… I need to show you _some_ hospitality. I’m not completely ill-mannered.” Draco gestured to the chair. “Come. Sit.”

Potter did as he was told, and Draco could sense his mouth watering. He felt a pang of joy and pride. He was impressing Harry Potter, it didn’t seem real.

“You’re amazing,” Harry said.

Draco waited for him to continue. “Sorry?”

“The fact that you can put up with all of this… Then cook such a fantastic meal for both of us? You’re amazing.”

“Thank you.” Draco could hear his heartbeat. “It’s really not much, it’s not a hard recipe–”

“It’s the fact that you’re trying,” he said. “Nice candles too.”

Draco looked down at his plate. “Electricity is expensive.”

“No, I get it. It makes a, er, a better atmosphere, I think.”

He gulped down a mouthful of chicken. “How so?”

“Well. It’s… More sensual.”

Draco almost choked on his bloody food. He spluttered several times before coughing violently, Potter springing to his feet, ready to take drastic measures. Draco could imagine it now, having survived everything only to die from a cheesy line from Potter and a throat filled with too much meat.

On second thoughts, he would try to avoid thinking of Potter and his throat being filled with meat as often as he could. Especially when Potter was right in front of him.

“Are you alright?” Potter asked. Was he alright? Was he alright. Draco glared at him, eyes watering and throat stinging. His gaze said, _do I look alright to you?_ “That’s a no, I’m guessing. Do you want some water?”

Draco shook his head and cleared his throat. “No. No, I want to finish my meal, and then I’m going out.”

Potter’s face deflated as if he was expecting something different. “Where?”

“Work, though I suspect it will be extra difficult with this new injury you’ve given me.” Draco rubbed his neck. “Merlin, that hurt.”

“I’m sorry. Have some water,” Potter pressed. “Don’t go to work tonight.”

“Why ever not? It’s my income, you buffoon.”

“It’s dangerous.”

“It’s _always_ dangerous. I’ll be fine, as long as you stay in the bedroom.” He gazed up at him. “Why are you still standing up? Sit down, sit down. I can’t eat whilst you’re not. It’s rude.”

Potter sat down opposite him once again, getting into the food. Draco was happy that he was enjoying it.  He liked cooking for people on most occasions, but he’d found that, no matter how much it frightened him for the most part, he enjoyed feeling a bit domestic with Potter. He felt his heart in his throat, and looked up, across the table. Potter was already looking at him.

“Is there something on my face?” Draco asked quietly.

“No.” Potter was rolling a slice of carrot in his fingers, and Draco couldn’t help but admire them.

“Then what are you looking at me for?”

Potter took a second before replying. “What would I get if I threw this carrot and it went down your shirt?”

Draco’s grip tightened around his fork. “A concussion.”

 

*

 

Draco was forced up against the door after it shut, and his mouth felt a great pressure while he heard the bottomless money jar open. He allowed the man to lift his arms and he held them there, able to infer what he wanted. The man began to unbutton Draco’s shirt agonisingly slowly, one button every five seconds. He left marks on Draco’s neck as he worked on his clothing, teeth digging into the flesh of his neck and collarbones. He slid down Draco’s body with eagerness once the shirt was completely undone, leaving deep, open-mouthed kisses down his chest.

“Your skin is so gorgeous,” the man commented, “turn around.”

Draco did as he was told. He turned and rest his cheek against the cold wood, taking slow and deep breaths. The man undid the button and fly of Draco’s trousers with wandless magic, a feat at which Draco was very much impressed. He yanked them down with haste and allowed a snarky grin to appear on his face. He clearly appreciated Draco’s choice of underwear, judging by how the pair had yet to be taken off. He pressed his palms to both sides of Draco’s hips and used his thumbs to pull them up, creating a makeshift thong in the already risqué pants and spreading apart his cheeks. He looked up for Draco’s reaction and was seemingly pleased with it, and soon moved the back of the underwear to the side, and replaced it with his mouth. As he began to trace his tongue around his rim, Draco occupied himself by wondering whether or not the cameras were up and going yet. He obviously wouldn’t be to notice them with the charms to mask them, but thankfully, the other man wouldn’t either. His hands clenched into fists as he began to really feel the man eat him out, and he almost let his knees buckle underneath him. His hand flew back, grasping the head of hair to try and steady himself.

“Holy shit, you’re good with your tongue,” he panted, the first he’d spoken since they had arrived back inside his house. “Go on, more, please.”

“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked instead of submitting to Draco’s request, rising to his feet, and Draco took a breath before answering.

“First door on the left.”

The man grabbed a handful of Draco’s ass and headed in ahead of him, but clearly wanted him to follow quickly. He licked his lips and fixed his hair, turning and catching sight of something unnerving.

His gaze met another, and for a moment Draco was overcome with panic, thinking that it was the culprit there inside of his house, caught right in the act. It was worse. Harry Potter was sat on the couch, staring at him with wide eyes and blown pupils. Draco stared back at him, frozen in place. After a couple of moments, he regained composure of himself, hiding his crotch with his right hand and covering his ass up again with his left.

“Are you coming?” Draco heard the man ask from inside his bedroom. He gave a look of warning towards Potter, and held his finger up to his lips, then pointed towards the room that he was supposed to be staying in. He headed inside, leaving Potter there to himself, to think.

 

*

 

The man left in the early hours of the morning, and Draco had to force himself to stand up and wander into the guest room. Sleeping in there honestly seemed like a bit of a stretch, but then…

Draco looked to the side before he left the room and saw through the darkness that the window was wide open. He shivered and headed over. 

Potter wasn’t asleep, to Draco’s disdain. He was wide awake, jotting down notes and examining several screens that were projected onto the wall by the door. He looked up immediately when Draco walked inside, gave a pity smile.

“I didn’t look, if you wanted to know.”

“What, when you were actually there? Or when you were having it taped?” Draco said in return. Potter went to respond, but Draco spoke over him. “I will fight with you over the events of tonight, tomorrow. Also, you should have a look at the footage in my room.”

Potter blinked. “What?”

“When I went in, it was super toasty in there. When I left, the window was wide open.”

“Couldn’t the guy have opened it?”

Draco fell onto the bed, pulling the duvet over him and trying to get warm. “I think I’d know if he got up to do that.”

Draco didn’t know if Potter replied, and if he did, Draco didn’t hear it. He fell asleep almost immediately, drifting off to the sound of pen scratching on paper.

 

*

 

Draco didn’t know why he expected bad news when he woke up. He was ready for a stressful morning, with Potter telling him that even more photos had been taken and uploaded. But this information didn’t come.

He woke up groggily, not used to sharing a bed with someone for the whole night. He almost felt bad for Potter, Draco having stolen all of the sheets, perhaps he would’ve been better off sleeping on the floor.

“Morning, Draco,” Potter greeted, still lying beside him. He was texting someone on his phone, trying not to laugh at something.

“Good morning,” Draco said back, and realised how this looked. It felt awfully domestic, waking up in the same bed next to one another. He hadn’t really a clue how he felt about that.

“Sleep well?”

Draco rubbed his eyes and rolled over, getting a full view of Potter now. He was sleeping only in his underwear, like Draco was as well. He was a lot hairier than Draco would’ve thought, patches across his chest surprising him. He wasn’t wearing his glasses and his hair was a mess, but when wasn’t it, honestly?

“Like a baby.”

Draco yawned and sat up, knowing that he stank. He really needed a shower, since he hadn’t had one the night beforehand. That felt kind of gross, actually, and he felt bad for Potter again. Draco just barged in and slept in his bed without washing first.

“Did you look over the footage?” Draco asked him, and Potter locked his phone. He nodded slowly, pulling up the projection on the wall again after putting on his glasses.

“This is when it opened,” he told him. He played it back, and Draco tried to avoid looking at himself. He was hoping that Potter avoided looking there as well. It was all too awkward and frustrating. He didn’t look _bad_ in the footage but he looked dirty. He was embarrassed by it. He was on top in this too, facing outwards, bouncing up and down on the man. Both of their faces were lit up with pure ecstasy, though Draco would admit that his was only a _little_ faked. He was just more than happy that the cameras didn’t pick up the sound.

“So, it obviously opened with a spell. The question is how they managed to do that from so far away because the other buildings are… Not that close.”

Draco gulped, bringing the saliva back to his mouth. He looked down, away from the projection, and said, “Could he have been on a broomstick?”

“That’s far too obvious, especially considering that this is a more expensive area of the city. Law states that broomsticks are not to be ridden above a certain height in fear of upsetting or disturbing the residents.”

Draco didn’t have any ideas and he only hoped that Potter had some more. He stayed sat as Potter stood up off of the bed, and studied his body while he was turned away. Potter really was built like an Auror. He looked damn good, Draco couldn’t fault him. The underwear fit him nicely too, he thought, getting lost in his mind as he began to nibble on his thumbnail.

Potter pulled on a shirt over his head and Draco wilted. He looked down just as Potter turned back around, picking up his phone off of the sheets. He walked over the bed, and on top of Draco’s legs, in order to get to the door and exited the room without another word. Draco thought that was rather rude.

Speaking of Potter being an asshole…

Draco jumped out of the bed to follow him. He forgot to cover himself up; it was warm anyway, and so he charged down the hallway to the kitchen, furious.

“Do not think that I’m not pissed off at you!”

Potter didn’t stop pouring himself some cereal, a brand that Draco hadn’t heard of, but did look up, clearly puzzled. “What?”

“I told you to stay in your room when I go out!” Draco exclaimed.

Potter bit his lip and looked away sheepishly. He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, finishing pouring the cereal. “I can explain.”

Draco huffed, his chest clearly thumping. “Go ahead, I’m waiting.”

“I was on the phone with Ron, and he asked me for something… I remembered that I had written it down on some notepad I found and so I went out to get it and then you came in. I swear I was hiding until then.”

Draco glared at him. “If he had seen you-”

“I know,” Potter told him, and looked back down at his cereal. “You alright?”

“Aside from the fact that you almost blew everything for me _again–_ ”

“No,” Potter interrupted him. He averted his eyes for a second, Draco noticed, before looking down at Draco’s body again. “You’re looking pretty beat up.”

Draco froze a second. He clenched his jaw and looked down at himself, ashamed that Potter would have to see this. He waited another moment before walking to the breakfast bar with a slow, hesitant pace. He sat down opposite Potter and took his spoon from him, having a test of the new, interesting-looking cereal, leaving the question unanswered.

“Not bad,” he commented, dropping the spoon back in the bowl, not even flinching when milk splashed back onto his chest. “I’ve tasted better.”

“Are you okay?” Potter asked him again.

“I could get rid of them if I wanted to,” Draco said, “my wand is in my bedroom.”

Potter’s expression dropped to seem more serious, his eyes wide. “You left your wand in a room with a wide open window when you _know_ that it’s possible for people to get inside?”

“I don’t care much. It’d be my third wand if I were to get a new one, you know. My magic is already weaker now as it is, does it matter if it gets worse? It’s not as if I use it anymore.”

”Or you’ll need it to defend yourself.”

“Oh, from _who?_ ” Potter raised an eyebrow and Draco realised just how stupid he sounded. He folded his arms. “I can get rid of them if they’re making you uncomfortable.”

“What?” Potter asked, before realising and shaking his head. “No, no. It’s, ah… It’s fine, Draco.”

Draco rolled his eyes as he heard his name, pushing the bowl of cereal back over to the other man. “It doesn’t feel at all right when you call me that.”

“I’m not going back to calling you Malfoy,” he took the cereal, beginning to eat it himself. “It just reminds me of when we properly hated each other. We’ve moved on from that now… Haven’t we?”

“I suppose since you’re trying to save my life, it would just be rude for me to hate you still. However, you relentlessly annoy me, and I still despise your presence in my house.”

“Thank you, I guess that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I am capable of being nice. I could say plenty nice things about you.”

“Oh, really?” Potter tilted his head. “I don’t think you _are_ capable.”

Draco studied his face, until his eyes scanned over his chest as well, regrettably clothed and unable to see anything that was under, the breakfast bar being rude enough to cover him.

“I suppose you have good taste in cereals. What is that?”

It was Potter’s turn to roll his eyes now. “Krave.”

“Krave? I wouldn’t go as far as to say that I would crave this cereal.”

“I do,” Potter said and stuffed his mouth full of the breakfast, smiling around it, open-mouthed.

“That’s disgusting.” Draco scowled, looking away quickly. “Close your mouth when you’re eating. Manners, Potter.”

“Come on, don’t be a wuss,” Potter spoke around the cereal.

“That’s _horrid._ Raised on a barn, were you? Or did you learn that from the Weasleys?”

“Watch it,” Potter warned him, before humming. “I forgot to say. Ron is coming over.”

“What?” Draco frowned. “When?”

A knock at his door interrupted what Potter was going to say, and Draco shot him a glare of pure venom.

“You blasted idiot!” He shouted, his arms raising to cover his chest. “Look at me! I look fucking–”

“Shut up,” Potter told him. “Go to your bedroom and get your wand and some clothes.”

Draco walked away quickly, a scowl over his face when he realised that he had to do what Potter was telling him. Potter followed him, the front door being adjacent to Draco’s room, and opened it for Weasley.

“How you holding up?” Weasley asked him, patting Potter on the shoulder as if it had been months since they’d last seen each other. Potter closed the door and started to open his mouth, but Draco didn’t give Potter a chance to respond. He barged out of his bedroom quickly, still shirtless, still covered in bruises. He looked panicked, face flushed red with alarm and his eyes wide. Weasley and Potter didn’t need to say a thing before they charged into the bedroom.

Across the walls, written in red, trickling down to stain the carpet, said, _‘Trop Facile.’_ The contrast of the bright red against the white paint stood out like a sore thumb - and the red trickled down to the floor, the fabric mixing with the carpet to become a hauntingly pink colour.

“Is it blood?” Draco asked them both, praying for a no as the answer.

“No,” Potter told him. “It’s too light for blood. Human blood, anyway… What language is this?”

“French,” Draco said.

“What does it say?” Weasley asked.

Draco took a long moment before he answered. The only sound was the windchimes at his window. “Too easy.”

The men didn’t speak for a while. They examined the scene as Draco left the room so that they had no distractions, and to gather some headspace for himself. He sat at the breakfast bar, absolutely freezing. He hadn’t gotten a chance to get a jumper to cover himself, and he hadn’t even been able to get his wand. He placed his head in his hands and willed for the men to be finished in there soon. He felt entirely too exposed how he was now, covered in love bites that reminded him too much of the less than satisfying night before, and the feelings he experienced when he trudged into Potter’s room right after. He was sure that this image of him would be burned into Weasley’s brain, and that was enough to make him crack a smile.

He heard his ringtone from the spare room that he and Potter had shared the previous night. He couldn’t be sure of how important any phone calls he received were anymore; nothing happened with his life. Truth be told, this stalker investigation going on was the most interesting thing to happen to his life for a long while, and he knew that was just sad. But in a way, he appreciated this mess. He was absolutely terrified by the entire ordeal, don’t get him wrong, but it was the first time that somebody had expressed so much interest in him in… Forever?

After walking to the spare bedroom with a twinge of pain centred in his lower back, he lifted his phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“Draco…” he heard the soft, familiar voice speak his name with years of affection and worry behind them. “Darling… What are you doing?”

“Mother,” he replied. He had managed to keep his profession from his mother for the longest time, and he hadn’t even considered that she might see the photos that had been plastered over the internet. Draco didn’t know that she knew what the internet was. “How is your health?”

“Draco,” she repeated, the tenderness of her voice never shifting. “I must see you.”

“Mother, I… Can’t come to see you. I’m hosting guests in my home right now.”

“I must come down, then.”

“Mother, there is no place for you to stay, and my guest is very important..”

“Whom are you hosting, Draco? Who is so important that you must shun your mother?”

Draco raised his head, looking to see whether or not Potter or Weasley had come looking for him, before whispering to her, “Harry Potter, mother.”

“Oh, my.”

Draco waited a moment for some more speech, though nothing came. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Mother?”

“You must entertain Mr. Potter, darling, I understand. Treat him well. He would not want me down there, I understand now. But we really must talk, darling, I believe there is something that you should know.”

“Yes, mother,” he said dryly. “I love you.”

“Goodbye, darling.”

The line died, and Draco took a deep, shaky breath. He brought his phone with him when he left the room, and was confronted with Potter and Weasley drinking his coffee and hurting his ears by laughing about something to do with Quidditch.

“Having a nice time, boys?” he asked. They immediately went quiet, and Draco raised an eyebrow. “Enjoying my coffee?”

“Sorry,” Potter said sheepishly but pushed a cup over towards him. “We made you one, though.”

“I’m guessing you’ve got news?” Draco picked up the mug, sniffing the coffee. “And I’m guessing I may need to sit down.”

The two men shared a glance with each other before both retrospectively looking down at their feet. Weasley cleared his throat, his eyes still averted from Draco.

“Before we say anything, do you want to put on some clothes?”

Draco then noticed that they had brought out one of Draco’s jumpers for him. He narrowed his eyes, but put down his coffee and began to pull it on.

“Too distracted, Weasley?” Draco asked when his head had gotten through. He waited a second before rolling it down to cover his torso, forcing eye contact with Weasley only to annoy him. “Would you like to know how I got them?”

“That’s the thing,” Potter spoke up now, not wanting that conversation to continue where it was going. “We’re going to have to look at the footage from the security cameras to see when this was done.”

Draco’s expression turned hard, and he glared daggers at Potter. “Weasley isn’t seeing it.”

Potter sighed and nodded. “Thing is, it would help if he does. Two sets of eyes are better than one.”

“Then _I’ll_ help!”

“Two sets of _Auror_ eyes, then,” Potter said. “Look, I’m sorry, but this really is the best way–”

“Listen, Malfoy, I would rather get stabbed in the eyes by old McGonagall wearing nothing but stilettos than watch you have sex,” Weasley interrupted Potter. “But if I can help, then I want to help.”

“No,” Draco told them again. “My agreement with Potter was that only he and I saw the footage. No other Aurors. I will look over it with him if he is so terribly incompetent that he can’t watch some footage by himself. If you insist, then I want the cameras taken down immediately, and I want you out of my house.”

Potter and Weasley shared another look, before they both nodded in defeat.

“Uh, so.” Weasley coughed. “It isn’t human blood, but it is blood. Ferret blood, whether you believe it or not.” He was suppressing a laugh, grinning into his mug.

“How _funny_ ,” Draco said with mock laughter. “So our man has a wonderful sense of humour. How fucking wonderful, honestly. I can tell that you’re amused all of those animals were killed for this, and that my fucking bedroom is now stained with their _blood._ ”

Weasley stopped sniggering. He finished his coffee quickly, dropping the cup in the sink. “Well, I’m going to need to take samples of the blood and see whether or not there’s been any reports of… Ferret bodies anywhere close by.” He nodded at Potter and stuck his hand out in offering for a handshake with Draco, quickly realised his mistake and withdrew it. He headed to the door without another word and Draco waited for it to close before he began to rip Potter apart.

“You are getting on my last fucking nerve, Potter.”

He watched as the man rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses, shaking his head. “You made a mistake then.”

“What, because I won’t let Weasley watch my sex tape?” He huffed out a laugh. “That is my privacy you’ll be invading. I don’t fucking want him seeing it!”

“But you’re okay with me seeing it?”

Draco was seething. “One fuckwit is better than two! And it was your idea!”

“To help you!”

“Or to laugh. That’s why you wanted to watch it with Weasley, isn’t it?”

“You’re being stupid, Draco,” Potter shook his head, walking forward. “I have not once laughed while watching that tape.”

“What? Planning to have a circle jerk with him over it, then?”

Potter’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry? Why is it so fucking hard for you to accept that we are trying to help you? There are no ulterior motives here!”

“Then why can’t you fucking watch it by yourself? Why do you need help to watch it?”

“Because I might miss things! I am not very observant!”

“I think everybody knew that from school,” Draco rolled his eyes and poured his coffee down the sink. It was too milky for him. “Come on.”

Potter stared blankly, seemingly forgetting what he was even angry about. “What?”

“We’re going to watch the fucking tape together.”

“Uh, we’re not going to be able to skip anything, Draco. Or fast forward.”

“Since you so worryingly doubt your ability as an Auror to competently examine a fucking tape, I _am_ going to watch it with you.”

 

*

 

They sat next to one another in silence. This was going to take quite a while, to look through from the point in which the window opened all the way through the night. Draco had brought with him some snacks; a plate of sandwiches, a few tangerines, and a box of hazelnut Belgian chocolate. He had briefly wondered whether or not he may become accidentally aroused by looking at himself. Was that possible at all? Or would that be too egotistical. 

He peeled open one of the tangerines and popped one of the slices into his mouth, his eyes focused on the screen and only the screen as the footage began to play. Potter sat down next to him, his knees up to his chest. Draco remembered what was happening and how it felt. The guy wasn’t as good as Draco was making it out to be in the tape, but his reactions were mostly genuine. That’s what it was usually like when Draco did all the work. Don’t get him wrong, he _loved_ to get fucked into a mattress good and proper, but riding the men gives him the ability to control his own pleasure.

He watched the man’s fingers get tangled in his hair and yank his head back to place another one of the many hickeys that was still imprinted on Draco’s neck, and you could make out that his moan was one of pure bliss. He had reached down to begin to pull himself off at the same time, getting in only a few good strokes before the man slapped his hand away and pulled his arms behind his back.

“Doesn’t this hurt?” Potter asked, breaking the silence that Draco would have much preferred had stayed. Draco turned his head to look at the man, his cheeks flushed and his breathing only slightly uneven. Draco could infer that that was just from embarrassment.

“Not if you do it right,” Draco said. He turned back to the screen. “If the other person is careless then it will all go wrong and painful.”

“You want to risk that?”

“It’s ultimately worth it.”

Without dragging his eyes away from the video, he could tell that Potter was looking at him instead of the actual tape. Draco understood why he may prefer that, but the whole point of having to sit through this awkward endeavour was for Potter to spot things that he wouldn’t have before.

“You’re not even bloody watching it, Potter,” Draco complained.

Potter sighed and stopped looking at him, looking around the room before looking back at the screen. “I can’t focus.”

“I can’t understand why,” Draco replied dryly, “do your job.”

“I’m trying.”

“Not hard enough.”

He heard Potter suppress a snort and he turned to glare at him, to give him a lecture about how absolutely _hilarious_ that was, when he froze.

His eyes caught glimpse of Potter’s pyjama bottoms, grey sweatpants, dishevelled and loose, and felt his mouth run completely dry. Through the bottoms, he could see a protruding outline of _something_ that left extremely little to the imagination. His words got caught in his throat as he began to feel himself staring, and he didn’t know what the hell he was doing. His eyes were mindlessly watching his crotch as the fabric shifted again. He didn’t know whether or not Potter had noticed yet, and he was not intending on finding out. The fabric shifted again and Draco could see the thickness of Potter’s cock, he thought that the Weasley girl was a fool to throw away such a gift that was there for the taking.

Potter cleared his throat and Draco’s head snapped back up to the screen. He still wasn’t sure whether or not the other man had noticed, but it would be slightly insane if he hadn’t. Draco was the epitome of blatant in situations when it came to sex.

Talking of sex. The Draco from the night before was sat on the client’s face, riding it like a bull. The man clawed and grasped at Draco’s ass, taking big handfuls and leaving scratches that were still stinging him. Draco’s hands were fisted in the sheets in the video, his face one of pure bliss, eyes scrunched closed and mouth hanging open. Then he saw it.

Draco leaned forward, just to try and make sure that he wasn’t hallucinating. The man had taken Draco’s arm and twisted it, and the ugly mark that he had been unable to forget had given off a hint of a glimmer. The windchimes outside his window had blown in the wind, banging against each other, before freezing abruptly. A cloaked arm crept around the frame of the open window, fingernails seeping into the wall. Draco on screen didn’t notice anything, oblivious due to the blinding pleasure, his eyes remaining tightly shut and his moans covering up any noise being made.

The footage froze completely, static taking over after a few seconds. Draco stood up, knocking over the plate of sandwiches that had been sat on his lap. He couldn’t believe what he had seen, his mind already beginning to punish itself for being so stupid, so heedless. He could have caught the bastard right then and there otherwise and put an end to all of this frustrating, incessant malarkey that Draco just could not be bothered with anymore. He felt his chest tighten and goosebumps littered his skin, the hair on the back of his neck raising. He gulped and blinked away the tears in his eyes.

“Put it back,” he demanded Potter, not turning to make eye contact with him.

“Draco, I–”

“Are you as deaf as you are thick?”

Potter turned the tape back to when the wind chimes rattled. They watched it again, the only sound being Draco’s inconsistent breathing, heavy and panicky. The hand on the wall got to him, bony and dark. He covered his mouth and tipped his head down, not even attempting to correct his breaths. His eyes remained open, unblinking, and the tears in his eyes fell straight onto his thighs.

He felt a warmth engulf him seconds later. He leaned into it without thinking, and gripped the ends tightly, the blanket grounding him. He felt Potter’s palm in his hair before it slid to his cheek.

Potter’s palm was rough, his skin ragged with scars from previous adventures. It contrasted with the soft and baby-like flesh on Draco’s face, fresh and so well taken care of. Draco wanted to tell him to get off, with how many germs the man was probably carrying with him, but he couldn’t bring himself to breathe another word.

“You need to calm down,” he told Draco. “Panicking will get you nowhere.”

Draco didn’t reply. His tears slid down his cheeks and rolled onto Potter’s hand, he was still confused as to why that was on his face in the first place.

“We’re going to figure it out, Draco,” Potter told him, his voice dropping to that of a whisper now. Their faces had somehow gotten closer. “You’re going to be okay.”

 

*

 

Due to the way life works and hates Draco Malfoy, Potter had ended up retracting his hand not five seconds after his comforting words, and left the room to contact Weasley. Draco didn’t really know what he had been expecting, or why he was left with his chest aching even more than before.

Two weeks had passed by with no news, but each day was like the last, no exception for this day either. Potter was up first, typing away on his phone. Draco rolled his eyes and pushed himself to sit up, grabbing his own phone and leaving the room without so much as a single greeting. He walked into his bedroom without hesitation. Nothing was there to greet him today, no blood, no mysteriously cloaked bastard.

His and Potter’s relationship had become regrettably more domestic. They awoke around the same time, and retired at the end of the day together as well. Draco cooked dinner in the evenings after Potter is allowed out of his bedroom, _their_ bedroom. They were treating each other almost civilly, while Draco’s comments were still full of snark, there was a softness to them all, and while Potter’s were still filled with distaste and disapproval, there was a fondness to them. They’d even exchanged _phone numbers_ , something Draco found pointless but he… liked. He’d named Potter ‘ _Hero,’_ without thinking about the consequences if anybody else were to see it. Draco wasn’t sure if all Aurors shared their phone number with their clients.

He went straight for the shower in his en suite, removing his underwear and stepping in. He felt clean again, at last. Everything that had been happening lately had been affecting him far too much, and being in the shower just felt like a chance to fully cleanse his pallet.

He left the bathroom after brushing his teeth, his towel hung low on his hips. He avoided looking at himself in the mirror as he got dressed, deciding to go with a slick white button-up, and blue jeans that hugged his legs nicely.

He preferred his hair when it dried naturally, so he did not look for his hair dryer or go for another spell. He did not style his hair, or make it look slightly better for the man on the other side of the walls. He told himself that he did not care, and nothing could change that.

_Knock knock._

Draco huffed, stomping out of his room. He looked around, but Potter seemed to still be in the bedroom, not yet having emerged for his breakfast.

_Knock knock._

Impatient little nuisance, Draco thought, and opened the front door. In hindsight, Draco could admit, albeit begrudgingly, that this idea was not one of his smartest yet. With Draco’s stalker on the loose and Draco standing wandless, the trip to the door could have easily ended up going achingly pear-shaped. However, it didn’t.

He was immediately enveloped, skinny arms circling his shoulders and cold lips pressed to his cheek. Short, chin length hair tickled his face and he almost fell backwards from the sheer force of the tackle.

“You’re _safe!_ ” They cried, Draco seeing only black and white. He struggled to keep himself on his feet, but managed moderately. He pressed his palms to the sides of their waist. “Oh, _Draco._ We have been running mad with worry. When we first saw the photos, we didn’t know what to do other than to come and gut the slimy troll.”

It clicked inside Draco’s brain at that moment; he pulled back and mimicked their actions, kissing their cheek as they had done his.

“I would have thought you’d go the more Slytherin route of not having to get your hands dirty.”

The woman, now grown and beguiling, dressed in black head to toe, scrunched up her face in a displeased manor. “You know it’s more fun when you do it manually.”

Pansy Parkinson; known in Hogwarts primarily for wanting to sell out the saviour to the Dark Lord. She looked bewitching, absolutely enchanting, and she made sure everybody knew it. She wore a dark dress, low cut at her chest and drawn up high at her thighs. Her hair matched in colour, though with a slight dark green tinge to it, cut into a bob and a neatly trimmed fringe.

“Who did you mean when you said ‘ _we?’_ ” Draco asked. There was nobody behind her and the door remained open, letting in an unpleasant breeze. He rubbed his arms, she looked unaffected by the weather.

“Blaise. But he decided that it would be a good idea to apparate across countries.” She rolled her eyes in distaste. “I swear he’s honestly thick. He’s being treated for a splinch now.”

Draco frowned. “He’s okay?” he asked.

“As well as one could be in that situation, I suppose,” she said, “It looked horrid when I saw it though. Looked like maggots were starting take a liking to it as well!” She let out a laugh, kicked the door closed behind her.

Draco’s expression twisted. “That’s disgusting.”

“Oh, where’s your sense of humour, darling?” she said. “Anyway, my luggage is floating up now, so I assume the spare bedroom is habitable still?”

“You’re staying here?” Draco asked, eyes wide.

“Would you expect me to take refuge in a nasty hotel room, Draco? Come on, make me a coffee while I go and set up camp.”

She started to head to the bedroom before Draco could get in another word; he wasn’t surprised at that. He sighed, trying to follow her, but she was far too quick for him, even in those five inch heels that she insisted on wearing. They looked like _torture._

Draco watched her open the door, and she stared inside for a good ten seconds, before slamming the door hard, but Draco knew she could’ve done it harder. She turned to him, eyes filled with bloody murder. A smile was plastered on her face, sly and tight. She glared at Draco, and cleared her throat.

“Draco,” Pansy said, “darling, is there a reason for why there is a stark-naked saviour in your spare bedroom?”

He blinked once. “Naked?”

“You know, it did take me a little while to get used to the idea of your profession, but really.”

Draco wasn’t listening to her. “Did you say naked?”

“ _Potter_ ? Of all people to bring home, you choose _Potter?_ Is it a hate fuck? Those are good, sometimes, but to think that he- the _Golden Boy,_ was up for getting down and dirty with a Death Eater..”

“Pansy. Shut up,” he said. “He has not been fucking me.”

A beat. “Surely not the other way around?”

“Have you met me?” He rolled his eyes. “He is the Auror who is helping me with the… Issues. The ones you saw.”

Her eyebrow raised. “The photos of you enjoying yourself?”

“Yes,” he deadpanned.

“Huh. And he must do this naked? I must say, it was not a bad sight at all. He really has grown up since his time at Hogwarts.”

Draco didn’t feel a pang of envy.

She kicked off her shoes and then bent to pick them up, rubbing the soles of her feet as she did. She sat herself down on his couch. Huh. He really needed to wash those cushions.

“Still want that coffee?” Draco asked. “Or have you lost your appetite?”

“Appetite is definitely not lost, dear. Quite the opposite.”

He didn’t know why, but he felt a strong urge to pour the coffee all over her.

He made the coffee swiftly. Black, just how she likes it, he remembered. He watched her flick her phone on, and was suddenly worried about what she was going to go through.

“Here they are,” she said. “Do they not have any idea?”

Her eyes remained fixed on her phone. Draco levitated the coffee over to her as he began to make one for himself and for Potter. “The suspect list is long. All they know is that they think it’s a man.”

“How competent of them. I’m sure you’re thrilled with that progress.”

“I don’t think I could be happier.”

A door closing down the hall got their attention. Thankfully, not as loud as Pansy’s was, Draco couldn’t afford any more complaints from the neighbours. They both looked over, however Pansy was the only one able to see him.

“Here he is.” She grinned. “The hung hero himself.”

Potter didn’t say anything in return. He walked out and Draco could finally see him. Unfortunately clothed, but beggars can’t be choosers. Potter looked awkwardly from Pansy to Draco, as he shuffled his way into the kitchen.

“You made me coffee,” Potter said.

“The correct term would be _thank you._ ”

“Thank you, Draco.” Potter gazed at him, picking up his mug.

Pansy choked on her coffee. Potter looked between them both again before moving to sit down next to her on the couch. Draco felt his heartbeat quicken, he should’ve known that Potter would say something to him that Pansy would take completely the wrong way.

“So… Potter,” she started, then added, “or can I call you Harry?”

“Oh.” Potter blinked at her. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“Harry.” The name rolled off of her tongue so easily. “What steps have you taken to ensure the safety of my Draco?”

“I’m not sure that Auror business has anything to do with you, if I’m honest. No offence.”

“I’m sure Draco won’t mind. Do you mind, Draco?” She looked over at him.

He sighed, and made to join them on the couch opposite. “No.”

“That's besides the point. It’s classified.”

Her face was like thunder. She glared at him with the anger of a thousand dragons and lifted her feet to rest them across Potter’s lap. He shifted uncomfortably beneath her, Draco noticed.

“You’d better be careful, Harry.” Her voice was like the coffee she was drinking; dark and bitter. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me.”

He pushed off her legs. “Don’t know if you remember, Pansy, but I’ve already been there and done that. Didn’t work out quite so well for you, did it?”

“Enough,” Draco interrupted. “Both of you are guests and I refuse to have you both disrupting the peace in my house.”

“You know, I was just thinking,” Pansy said, ignoring him. “How do you know you can trust this dolt?”

Draco frowned at her. “He’s an Auror.”

As if Potter wasn’t even in the room, she said, “He’s your enemy.”

“ _Was_ his enemy,” Potter chimed in.

“We’re past such childish squabbles,” Draco agreed.

“Prove it.”

“What’re you thinking, Pansy?” Draco asked, his tone accusing.

“Don’t worry, I’m not proposing that we use the _Imperius_ curse on him,” she said. Potter had been victim to that before, Draco recollected. Fourth year. In the graveyard in the last challenge of the Triwizard Tournament, rumour had claimed. Draco took a sharp breath, trying not to remember his own experiences with the curse, victim and assailant. From a shallow pocket in her dress she withdrew a small vial, contents filled with clear liquid that could be easily mistaken for just water.

“No,” Draco decided without discussion.

“Oh come _on_ , darling.” She scooted closer to Potter on the couch. “He shouldn’t be worried if he’s got nothing to hide.”

Potter stood up. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Why don't you boys want to have any fun? Here,” she paused and pulled out two other identical viles. “Don’t be such Hufflepuffs. Harry, where’s that Gryffindor bravery? Draco, where’s that Slytherin sense for doing something so, so wrong?”

The two men exchanged a glance.

“You know that I’m skilled in Occlumency. No doubt Potter is as well,” Draco pointed out. “He could work his way around it, no doubt.”

“Want to test it out?” She suggested. She was relentless.

“Veritaserum is prohibited by the Ministry,” Potter said. “That’s a crime.”

Pansy grinned again. _The Cheshire cat returns,_ Draco thought.

“I have permission to brew it. The Ministry in Britain prohibits it. In France, the laws are looser. So are the people.” Pansy tapped the vials together, creating a clinking sound. “You should try being more like them."

Draco considered it. Finding out more about Potter certainly intrigued him; but the risk of what Potter could find out about Draco far outweighed that. There was the possibility that the man was immune to the potion as well, and Draco didn’t know if he could risk running his mouth off with no benefit whatsoever.

“I’ll have some after Potter does.” The two looked at him with varying expression. Pansy’s was one of mischief and encouragement, whereas Potter’s said, _stop, stop before you get us both in trouble._ “What’s the harm?” he continued. “ _Do_ you have something to hide?”

“Such as all Ministry top secrets?” Potter glared.

“If we swear to not ask about any very important Ministry business, will you take part in our game, Harry?” She fluttered her eyelashes. He frowned in distaste and stood.

“I said no,” he said. “I’m going to meet with Ron. He has news. You’re going to have to wait, sorry, Draco.”

“So I am to sit like a spoiling gooseberry while you discuss my fate with a man who hates me. Oh, joyous me.”

Pansy laughed. Potter did not. He looked between the two who were still sat. “I can trust Parkinson to keep you safe for the time being.”

“Oh, _yes._ You certainly can,” she said, excited.

“Salazar forbid I’m actually able to take care of myself. Heavens, can you believe that I am an adult?” Draco asked rhetorically, his eyes wide and feigning shock.

“You know what I mean, Draco. It’s dangerous for you to be alone.”

“Shall I start expecting you to accompany me to the street corners now as well?”

Potter did not reply to that but instead walked to the bedroom, presumably to get changed to go out. Draco rolled his eyes as he watched him walk away, his eyes studying his back muscles through his shirt. He turned back and saw Pansy’s smirk.

“You were looking too,” he said.

“I didn’t need to. You let me walk in on him when there was no clothing to mask him,” she said. “I suddenly had an urge to become a snake charmer.” She brought her hands to her mouth and mimicked playing the gourde. Draco rolled his eyes.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re the same as me.”

Draco studied her face. “No.”

“You wouldn’t go there?”

“No.”

“You lie.”

“You accuse.”

“I do,” she said. “Rightfully so.”

“Piss off.”

“Hit a nerve, darling? I don’t blame you for it, you know. He is gorgeous. And the hate sex? To die for, surely.”

“I’m not going to have sex with Harry Potter, Pansy,” he said.

“How reassuring,” they heard. They both turned their heads to see Potter again, now holding a large black briefcase and dressed completely in formal attire. His hair was still disheveled but Draco preferred it that way; he imagined that Potter would look like a right ponce with his hair actually styled. Nevertheless, he looked breathtaking.

“You sure you’re not going on some hot date, Harry?” Pansy said.

“I’m sure.”

"Oh, good. Splendid, in fact!” She licked her lips, her gaze eating him up.

“Shut up, Pansy,” Draco said. She turned to him.

“Jealous?”

Nobody replied to her, and Potter looked between them awkwardly. Without another word, he headed to walk out of the door. Pansy stopped him.

“How about we do something tonight? I can treat us to dinner. Us three,” she directed her next words at Potter. “You can invite your friends if you want.”

He spoke to her, but his eyes were on Draco. “I’ll think about it.”

He left.

“You’re mad,” Draco told her. He scowled, and sipped on his coffee.

“Don’t act as if you don’t want to go. I must say, I’m not looking forward to be sitting with Granger and Weasley- or should I say, Weasley and Weasley. But to see your face when you’re with him…” She smiled. “Oh my. Young love.”

“We aren’t _in love,_ ” Draco argued. Love was for fifteen year olds and fantasists. Love was for those who were lonely. Those who were unable to handle things by themselves. Those who believe in love do not believe in themselves.

“Stop being a coward, Draco.”

“Stop being delusional.” He glared. “If we are to go out then I must prepare.” He stood.

“Oh, would you like me to do your makeup?” Pansy teased. “Make you all pretty for lover-boy?”

 

*

 

For some unknown and probably utterly ridiculous reason, Potter ended up agreeing to Pansy’s preposterous proposal.

Draco had been leaning on his windowsill, listening to the windchimes. He was looking at the scenery, if one could call it that. Buildings upon buildings. It was all grey, but that was London. The chimes rang with the gushes of wind beautifully, creating a lovely and incomprehensible tune. Pansy walked in without knocking or announcing herself, and though Draco was not indecent, he could have been.

“You’ve got yourself a date,” she had said. Draco sighed in response, but inside he was glad, and he didn’t appreciate that.

“You’re going to get yourself a slap in a minute.”

“Surely you wouldn’t slap a lady?”

“My hand spares no goader.” He turned from the windchimes to leer at her.

“Noble.”

She wore a dark burgundy dress that stretched down to her toes, hiding her shoes, though Draco had no doubt that they were as posh as she looked. She had jewellery from her head to her wrists, and throat. Several gold earrings in each ear, matching a golden piercing in her septum and a shining short necklace. Around her forearms were many a bracelet, stretched to her elbows. The tainted colour of her lips and her eyelids matched her dress.

Draco felt underdressed looking at her. He was wearing the same white button-up shirt, only dress trousers with them now instead of jeans. He hadn’t touched his hair on Pansy’s instruction. _Makes you look how you did in first year,_ she had told him, and that was enough to put him off the idea.

“Look at you,” he said, gazing at her appearance. “You know, if I was interested in women, I would–”

“Be in my pants?” She raised an eyebrow. “If you were interested in women, that would have happened in fourth year.”

“Fourth year? That’s ambitious. A bit young, don’t you think?”

“Daphne Greengrass was up and at it second year, apparently.” She laughed.

“Are we not a bit old for facetious gossip?”

She blinked at him and joined him in leaning on the windowsill, watching the windchimes rock. “Have you spoken with Astoria lately?”

It was his turn to laugh now. Draco said, “Merlin, no. As if it would go swimmingly if I tried. I understand though; it can’t be easy for one’s _true love_ to come out as homosexual.” He raised his shoulder and smiled cockily, pretending to flip his hair.

“Oh, yes. I’m sure she was besotted with you.”

“She _was.”_ He frowned. “Your breasts look fantastic.”

“Don’t attempt to distract me from your big head.”

“How dare you slander–”

“Hush, lovely.” She pressed her finger to his lips. He glared down at it. “Now, let us socialise and be one with our Gryffindor pals.”

 

*

 

It was apparent that Potter and Co. had not received the memo that this place was formal and called for formal attire. They showed up in the most casual of clothes, jeans and baggy tops the like. Potter was wearing his clothes from earlier though, the ones that made him look no less than irresistible. Draco had to keep himself from staring and Pansy knew it, elbowed him in the side teasingly 

“Good evening.” Draco stood when he saw them approach. He and Pansy had been at the table for half an hour before the three arrived, but they didn’t blame them. They had arrived early on Pansy’s request, and Draco found out why.

_“I will give you one hundred galleons if you agree to add Veritaserum to your wine for tonight.”_

He had looked at her, bewildered at the idea, but realised that if he disagreed then she would end up slipping it into his glass anyway. It would surely be better to get money out of it.

And so, in it went. Draco felt regret as soon as he saw the vial empty into the red.

He shook each of their hands, though probably not necessary with Potter, and Pansy gave them each a kiss on the cheek. They sat, and Draco began to sip on the wine. He gulped down a mouthful and tried to disguise his nervousness, knowing how terrible this night could turn out.

“So how have you two been?” Granger asked. She was polite, to Draco’s surprise. He had no right to her courtesy, he knew that.

“Quite terrible,” Draco said before Pansy could get a word in. “I’m being stalked and my childhood enemy is living in my house.”

Nobody spoke until Pansy smiled and broke the silence. “I’ve been doing quite alright, thank you, Granger. Or… Weasley, I should say.”

Granger sipped on her own glass now, pleased with Pansy’s response. “Oh, we aren’t children anymore. I’m sure we can all use our first names.”

“Hermione.” Pansy nodded. “You are kind. And you’re looking as well as you did when I last saw you."

Draco furrowed his brows, putting his glass down. “When did _you_ meet with Granger?”

“Her wedding,” she said, as if it was obvious.

Draco picked up his glass again immediately. “ _I_ wasn’t invited to any wedding.”

“Maybe if you’d actually grown some balls and apologised like Pansy had, then you’d have been invited,” Weasley said. Draco couldn’t hold his tongue.

“I do have balls. If I recall correctly it was not so long ago that you were begging me to see them.”

Potter intervened before Weasley could. “That’s not what happened.” He turned to Granger. “It was for the case.”

“What’s this?” Pansy chimed in. “Hermione is allowed to hear about the case but I’m not? I believe I’m the only one at the table not informed then.” She turned to Draco, a glint in her eye. He realised then that she was only now beginning to use the Veritaserum against him. “Tell me about the case, Draco.”

Draco tried to bite his tongue. He couldn’t. He could feel the entire table staring at him and he couldn’t hold himself back. “A man has been stalking and taking photos of me to post into social media. He has been inside my house without my knowledge and written on my walls with blood - not human blood. Ferret. Very funny, I know. The writing was in French. It activated my… My mark.” He pulled down his sleeve. “Potter has been staying with me for my protection and there are cameras plastered all over my house, for security. Potter has been watching the footage from my bedroom and wanted Weasley to watch with him. We ended up watching it together because I didn’t want Weasley to see me… In compromising positions.”

Potter and Weasley glared at him, not knowing what to say, whereas the women fussed over him.

“Draco, I’m so sorry, that must be awful for you,” said Granger. Or Weasley. Whatever he was supposed to call her now. “I didn’t know the- the extent of it. That’s completely horrible.”

He looked at her, puzzled. “Why do you have sympathy for me, Granger?”

Her frown deepened and she reached across the table to grasp his hand. “I have forgiven you. I think it’s high time we all forgive each other.” She gave Weasley the side-eye. “Please. Call me Hermione.”

“I don’t deserve to,” his voice was just above a whisper.

“The war would have been lost to the Death Eaters if it were not for you and your mother, Draco. I think everybody needs to remember that.”

Draco downed his wine and Pansy looked at him with concern.

“Thank you,” he spoke, “Hermione. It is odd to call you that. Did you know I thought I fancied you in second year?”

Pansy sniggered while Hermione’s eyes widened and Weasley pulled her back protectively. Hermione took a second, before covering her mouth to laugh.

“Really?”

Draco was going to slaughter Pansy. “I mean, I soon realised that I didn’t. Keep your knickers on, Weasley, I’m gay. And for that reason, you can keep yours on too, Hermione.”

Hermione laughed again, with Pansy and even Potter. Weasley didn’t seem to find it very amusing, but that seemed to add to their cheer.

“Well, good,” Weasley said. “You better not fancy any of my friends.”

Pansy’s gaze shot to Draco immediately. He couldn’t make out her expression in his peripheral vision, but he was sure he’d kill her for it any which way. Draco finally said, “ _Fancy_ is a bit of a childish word, don’t you think?”

Pansy sat up straight. “I agree. They use much more elegant language in France.”

“Oh, of _course_!” Hermione exclaimed. “You’ve been living in France, haven’t you! Oh, that seems like a dream. How is it?”

Pansy and Hermione began to speak about their lives and Draco’s eyes travelled to Potter’s. He was already looking at him, for some reason. Draco didn’t look away, for some reason. He didn’t look away until the plates arrived with everybody’s food, and even then their gazes were interlocking every once in a while. Draco asked the waiter to bring him another bottle of wine. For some reason.

Draco was cutting into a large slab of gammon when he heard Hermione speak to him again.

“Draco,” she said, “How is living with Harry?"

“Frustrating,” he answered immediately. The alcohol was making him less aware of the Veritaserum and making him care less about it. He allowed it to do the talking for him. “It is difficult to bring home clients when he’s there. And seeing him every morning is murder. You know he is on strict instruction to not leave his room when I go to get a client, what did he do the other night?” He paused for dramatic effect. “I came home with an attractive man and he was sat there in the living room. That could have cost me a lot of money, Potter.”

“I already said that I’m sorry. If anything, it’s Ron’s fault for making me go and get something,” Potter said.

“It’s alright. I’ve been meaning to ask, did you enjoy the view, Potter?”

They stared blankly at him, Potter looking down with rosy cheeks that just must have been caused by the wine. Hermione grinned, then asked, “Why do you still call him Potter?”

“I’m scared that if I start to call him Harry then it will be too familiar and intimate between us, when we’re already doting over that line right now.”

Weasley stopped his fork midway to his mouth. “Then why do you still call me Weasley?”

“Because I don’t like you.” Draco shrugged. “You call me Malfoy. Everyone else here calls me Draco.”

“He’s right, you know,” Potter said.

Draco put the gammon in his mouth and chewed. It was delicious, and he made it known, his slightly intoxicated mind not worrying. He let out a content sigh and a hum of approval.

“This is remarkable,” Draco said, going in for another bite. “Who recommended this establishment?”

“You did, Draco.” Pansy laughed.

“Of course. I would only suggest the best.”

“Have you had anything other than wine to drink, Draco?” Hermione asked. “Mixing drinks isn’t a good idea. It gets you drunker, yes, but more ill.”

“I’m not drunk,” he said. “And yes, I have.”

“What?” Potter asked now. What did he care, anyway?

“Veritaserum,” he confessed. He saw Pansy put her head in her hands.

“It’s not fun when they _know,_ Draco.”

“It’s not fun for me at all,” he argued.

Potter rolled his eyes. “Really, Pansy?”

“Yes, isn’t she such a delight. My best friend. She wants me to spill my darkest secrets,” Draco said.

Pansy smirked. “What kind of dark secrets?”

“That’s enough.” Hermione dropped her fork. “You’re not making him say that, surely.”

“A joke.” Pansy stretched her lips into a forced smile.

Draco sat, covering his mouth. He was almost afraid to talk.

“I agreed to it,” he said quietly. “She didn’t drug me. I’m owed a hundred galleons.”

“What did you think would happen?” Weasley asked her. She raised her eyebrow at Draco.

“I think he knows.”

“Don’t ask me,” he pleaded, which drew a small laugh around the table.

His eyes found Potter’s for another second and they both simultaneously sipped on their wine. Draco couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, and, Merlin, what was happening to him?

“How is married life?” Draco asked.

“Why do you care?” Weasley shoved a bite of sausage into his mouth. It was far too large, but he managed. Draco didn’t want to think about that.

“Because I’m trying to get more conversation going and Hermione is being sweet to me. I have decided that I care about her well-being.”

“It’s lovely, Draco, thank you.” She smiled. “Are you seeing anybody?”

“Do you–” he started, but honestly did not want to be rude to her. He took a deep breath. “I do not have a boyfriend. I highly doubt that I would be able to keep one with my profession.”

“Why not?” Potter asked. Draco glared at him silently.

“What did you want to be when you were younger, Draco?” Hermione asked, her expression pitying.

“Depending on how young you mean, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a child. When I actually was able to comprehend the stupidity of that, I wanted to become a healer.”

“Why didn’t you?” Potter asked him.

“I tried. They wouldn’t let me.”

“I’m going to talk to the Ministry,” he said.

“No, you are not.” Draco blinked once at him. “I– I–”

“It’s unfair for him to talk about this while under Veritaserum,” Hermione said.

“I need your help to move my life along, but I do not want to take it from you. I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing that you helped save somebody else’s life.”

“Me helping to get you healer training isn’t me saving your life.”

“It would be.” Draco shoved some broccoli in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed before continuing. “You think I can keep up doing this for the rest of my life? The only appeal is that I’m young.”

“That’s not the only appeal,” Pansy said. “You’re gorgeous beyond compare, darling.”

“You can’t honestly think that they’re only– that they only want your- your _service_ because of your age,” Potter said.

“I’m flattered. But even if you’re right, my good looks will not keep me in this profession at the age of ninety.” Draco shrugged and continued to eat.

“You never know what some people are into, mate,” Weasley said.

“Yes, as I recall you were smitten with McGonagall, weren’t you?” Pansy remarked.

“I was _not._ ” Weasley gasped in offence. The table laughed again.

“Drink more, friends,” Pansy told the table. “What is a good night without getting merry?”

“Sensible,” answered Hermione.

“Boring,” Pansy said, correcting her. “Perhaps if we all let loose then you’ll be more willing to play my little game.”

“What game?” Potter asked.

“Who can ask Draco the most embarrassing question?”

Her face was lit up with mischief and Draco shook his head slowly. She had played this game with him before, with Blaise and Theodore. That had turned out a bit odd; with Draco more embarrassed than ever and the others finding out more about him than they had ever wanted to know. Except maybe Theodore.

“That’s horrible,” said Hermione. “We don’t want to play.”

“Come, he doesn’t mind. Do you mind, Draco?”

“Slightly,” he said. “I’m scared of what I will say.”

“See? It’s all good fun. And it’s a chance for you three to get to know him better, since we’re all now planning to hold hands and skip into the sunset!” She laughed, nobody else did.

“What does the winner receive?” Weasley asked. Hermione shot him a disapproving glare.

“This is inhumane. Pansy, enough.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I can ask him some questions then.”

“You and your questions.” Draco rest his chin on his hand. “Go then. You have five questions to make me forfeit. If I cover my mouth to refuse to answer one, you get fifty galleons.”

“Easy,” Pansy said. “Who helped you through your sexual awakening in fifth year and sixth year?”

“Theodore.”

“I don’t mean physically. Okay, who _triggered_ it?”

“Potter.” He grit his teeth.

“Have you dreamt of him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to fuck him?” Her face was lit up.

“No.”

She paused. “Do you want—”

“Stop,” Hermione interrupted her. “This is your idea of fun? Can’t you see that you’re making them both uncomfortable?”

Pansy looked at her, then at Potter, then back to Draco.

“Yes.”

“It’s not quite suitable for the table.”

“What happened to all of your senses of fun?”

“Whatever happened to privacy?” Hermione shot back.

They all silently continued to eat. Draco should have known that there would be some conflict at this meal, the others must have as well. It was awkward for the remainder of the time, unfortunately, though Pansy didn’t look as if she cared much.

When it was time to leave it had seemed as if everybody but Potter had forgotten that he was going with Draco and Pansy. He had followed them for a while, instead of following Hermione and Weasley, before Draco turned and asked him what the hell he was doing. Potter and Pansy had laughed, before letting Draco know that he was intending to come with them.

Back at Draco’s house, they continued to drink. Potter didn’t, he had gone straight to get changed out of his dress clothes.

“My dear,” Pansy said, holding a bottle of red. “French wine is simply the best kind.”

“I disagree. While I love the French, and my heritage with them, I must admit that the Italian wine is exquisite. _C’est magnifique.”_

_“Le faux. N’importe quoi.”_

_“J’en mettrais ma main au feu.”_ Draco smiled at her, and drank straight from the bottle.

It was approaching midnight. Draco had just assumed that Potter had gone immediately to bed, but they hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements yet. It was far too dangerous for anybody to sleep in Draco’s bedroom and it would be extremely uncomfortable for all three of them to fit into a measly double bed. Pansy would have to sleep in the living room, on the couch, Draco decided to himself. There was no way that he was going to give up his spot in bed with Potter, no matter how infuriating he got. He was very attractive, the thought. And noble. And brave.

“ _Allez!”_ Pansy snapped her fingers in his face. “What are you daydreaming about?”

“It isn’t day anymore,” he told her.

“True.”

“Where did Potter go?"

“To the bedroom. Wee you wanting to follow him?” She nudged him playfully. “Huh? Huh?”

“Yes,” he said, the effects of the Veritaserum still active. “Sort of. He is attractive. And noble. And brave.”

“Is that the real Draco Malfoy I’m talking to?” She laughed.

“Yes,” he answered bluntly.

“Look at me,” she said. He did. “You should go for it.”

“No. No, I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t do anything. It would ruin everything and interfere with the investigation.”

“Investigation this, investigation that, who cares? If I had access to the files and the suspects then I would have this solved in two seconds.”

“Really?” Potter asked, emerging from the hallway. “That sounds ambitious. You’re not an Auror.”

“No, I’m not. I spend my days watching crime dramas and bathing in gold and rose petals.”

“You think because you watch crime shows, you’re more skilled than an Auror?" 

“Yes,” she replied.

“Okay, humour me. Try and figure it out.” He walked and sat down on the arm of the chair next to Draco. Draco held his breath.

“Well, the perpetrator obviously has a sense of humour and some animosity towards Draco, hence the ferret blood. They speak French, or at least know of Draco’s French heritage. They know where he lives, not just the building but the exact floor and which window to take photos in. Which _windows_. This clearly implies he’s been here before but that doesn’t exactly narrow down the choices.” She took a breath. “We’re looking for somebody who went to school with Draco, who was close with him, and has been to his house. Does that narrow down your list, Auror?”

Potter turned to Draco. “Who have you brought here who was in our year?”

Under the influence of the Veritaserum, he didn’t have to think so hard. “Pansy Parkinson, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode.”

Pansy frowned. “Why on earth was Millicent here?”

“To chat. She thought that I had fucked her father.”

“It’s Theodore,” Potter said. “It’s Theodore."

“No,” Draco shook his head. He didn’t want to entertain that idea.

“He speaks French. He’s been to your house.”

“There’s history there. He has motive,” Pansy added.

“What history?”

“I sucked his cock in sixth year. He thought I was in love with him and struck me off,” Draco said. “He came to my house a while ago and paid for my services. I told him to fuck off when he had finished. Merlin. Merlin, no. It can’t be him.”

“It makes sense.” Potter took his phone out. “I need to tell Ron."

“No, no, don’t,” Draco begged him. “Let’s think about it. Please.”

“Darling,” Pansy said. “What is there to think about?”

“Why would he have so much rage towards me?”

“You said you told him to fuck off.” Pansy put her hand on his shoulder.

“I did, but that can’t– That shouldn’t be grounds for _this._ ”

“Wait,” Potter said. “You said he activated your Dark Mark. How would he…”

“I don’t know. But he didn’t activate it, not really. It just- It shon. I don’t know how. It was like, it was like a light. Like it was covered in glitter.”

“What did it feel like?” Potter asked.

“Nothing. I didn’t even know it had happened until we saw the clip.”

“Let’s rewatch that.”

Draco’s expression faltered. “I don’t know…”

“Then I’ll watch it alone.”

He turned to Pansy. He suddenly didn’t feel so drunk anymore.

“I’ll watch,” he said. “Pansy will not.”

“Draco,” she started, but stopped. She nodded.

Draco stood and followed Potter to the bedroom. He shuffled his feet on the carpet as he walked.

“How are you feeling?” Potter asked once they were inside. He shut the door after them.

“I’m dreading this. I’m scared that you’ll tell me that it really is Theo. And I’m scared that I’ll get aroused around you again.”

“You get aroused watching yourself have sex?” Potter let out a small laugh. “That’s the most ‘Draco Malfoy’ thing I’ve heard in a while.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” he spoke without control. “Last time I got aroused because I saw that you did.”

Potter looked down sheepishly at his feet. “I wasn’t sure you’d noticed.”

“It was hard not to.”

“And it was hard not to get hard. Watching you,” he said. Draco said nothing in return, tried not to make eye contact with him. “I want you to know that I’ll probably get aroused again. Now.”

Draco still wasn’t looking at him. “Then I probably will too.”

“What if you don’t look at me?”

“Have you met me?” Draco said a final time. “When are my eyes not on you? It’s like you’re a magnet.”

“I’m sorry?” Potter laughed awkwardly. “I’ll try not to be a magnet.”

“You’re acting as if you’re not wearing those trousers on purpose.”

“I’ve not a clue what you’re talking about, Draco.”

“Shut up, Potter.”

“Call me Harry,” he said. “You know you want to.”

“You’re a twat for saying that when I’m unable to deny it.”

“I’m starting to sort of like this Veritaserum thing.”

Harry set up the video as he had done before. They sat on the bed, against the headboard, as opposed to sitting on the floor. Draco’s chest was pounding. He suspected that Harry’s was as well. It started and Draco’s face flushed bright red. He was watching himself again and it was just as embarrassing as the first time around. He crossed his legs over as the version of himself on the screen spread his apart, baring his cock and ass for the camera to get full blast of. He was hard, precome leaking out of the tip. It was rhythmically bouncing along with the thrusts of the man behind him, and his face was scrunched up, mouth in the shape of an _O._ Eyes were tightly shut, his hands were tightly compacted into fists in he bedsheets.

“You’re enjoying yourself,” Harry said. The boundaries had clearly been established and were slowly being cared about less and less; by them both, caused most probably by the wine from the meal. Draco found himself biting his lip.

“I usually act it up when I’m with them. On the rare occasions that I don’t have to, I make sure to enjoy it to the best of my ability.”

“I can tell.”

Draco couldn’t not look. He had given Harry enough warning when they had walked into the room. He wasn’t lying, he couldn’t have been lying when he said that he could barely keep his eyes off of him most of the time. The fact that Harry had said that he was probably going to get aroused seemed to Draco like some sort of invitation to look down, to see if he had kept his word. But it hasn’t been long since they’d started to watch, and Draco wanted Harry to get the full experience again, to see everything and for that arousal to build up until he was far gone from half-hard at least.

“How would you feel if that was you?” Draco asked.

He saw Harry’s head whip around to stare at him. “ _What?_ ”

“Oh,” Draco said, realising his mistake. “No, no. I meant if you were the one being filmed.”

“Oh,” Harry parroted him. “I don’t know. It would probably depend on who I knew was going to see it.”

Draco hummed quietly. He said, “I didn’t even know you were bent. I suppose you leaving the Weasley girl makes more sense now.”

“I wasn’t sure I knew that you were either. I heard rumours,” Harry said, “about you and Zabini. And Nott.”

“Hardly anything happened with Blaise in comparison to Theo.”

“What happened?”

“We necked a few times, and got handsy.” He put his face in his hands. “Merlin, you’re a fucking twat.”

“So the rumours about what happened in the Slytherin dormitories, those are true as well?”

“Not at all to the extent of what people say, no,” Draco said. “I was a virgin all of Hogwarts.”

“Me too,” Harry said.

“When did you lose yours?”

“I don’t have to answer,” Harry said, a smirk replacing his flushed demeanour. “When did you lose yours?”

“When I first started prostitution."

Harry faltered slightly. His eyebrows screwed together and he frowned. “Draco…”

“What? Do you pity me now?”

“No, of course I don’t pity you. It’s just… Have you never… Out of love?”

“Love?” Draco laughed. “Are you kidding?”

“No. Why would I be?”

“You think that somebody could love–”

“Yes,” Potter said, with no hesitation.

“That’s ambitious.”

“It’s the truth, Draco. Believe it or not, people can be attracted to your personality.”

“Name one person who is attracted to my personality,” Draco challenged him. He turned to him when he didn’t speak, studied his face.

“You used to be a right prat,” Harry started. “You were more than a prat. You were the worst, most vile person that I knew. Over the past couple of weeks I’ve seen that you’ve grown out of that.” The edge of his lip was drawn up a bit. “Partially."

“What are you saying?”

“What if I said I fancied you a bit?”

Draco stared at him. He darted out his tongue to wet his lips slightly and drew in a shaky breath. “I thought we said that _fancy_ was a childish word.”

“I think you said that.”

“I would say that you’re delusional, and that it’s completely unprofessional of you, and that I probably feel the same, and oh, dear fucking Salazar, you can’t be doing this while I’m intoxicated and on Veritaserum."

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice low and raspy. He wasn’t watching the tape at all.

“Don’t be.”

“Then we’ll talk when the case is over. When you’re safe.”

On the screen, Draco shuddered as he came for a first time. The man had given him no chance to even rest, continuing to relentlessly fuck him into the bed. The man shifted positions and then it happened; the man twisted his arm back and it shon. The glimmer it gave off looked as if it could have been enhanced by the camera lens, but as soon as it happened, the window opened and the man’s arm entered.

“The fingers are too bony to be Theo’s,” he said.

Harry put a hand on his shoulder. “Draco, don’t kid yourself.”

“I’m not,” he retaliated. “Veritaserum, remember? _Please_ , Harry.”

He hesitated. “You really believe that it’s not him?”

“Yes. It’s _not_ him.”

“We’ll still have to take him in for questioning. But I’ll make sure he has some chance… Who else could it be?”

Draco looked down. “I didn’t- I was sure that it couldn’t–” He stopped trying to fight against the potion. “I think it could be Nott Senior. His father.”

“What?” Harry sat up.

“I didn’t think to mention it. He’s been to my house before. But he has the mark as well. That could be why it reacted. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve met somebody else who’s had it. He was angry about Theo and I. I don’t know how he found out, really, but he was furious. He said that I had ruined everything that was arranged for Theo’s marriage. He wanted to get back at me.”

“Why didn’t you think that this was relevant to mention before?” Harry asked, frustrated yet riled up at the new information.

“I don’t know! I don’t know.” He shook his head. “But it has to be him.”

“I agree.” Potter was lightening up slowly. “You did it. You actually did it.”

“Yes. I’m not even the Auror in this room.” Draco smiled weakly back at him. “Is it going to be over now?"

“Well, it will take a while. He’ll have to be interviewed, and it will have to go to court. You’ll have to be there. Give evidence.”

“I suppose you’re going to stop staying here as well?”

“Well… I suppose while he’s being interviewed and everything, I might have to stay with you a bit longer. Just in case you’ve got it wrong. Or if there’s more than one.” Harry was still smiling.

Draco looked up at him. The static of the screen went on in the background as they gazed at one another, the rise and fall of their chests underneath their shirts getting more and more noticeable by the second. Draco was sure that this was more than a good time to check whether or not the tape - or any other things - had had an exciting affect on Harry. His soft gaze travelled slowly from the other’s eyes to his lips, slightly chapped but wet from the actions of his own tongue. He darted his eyes back up to Harry’s again, fast enough to catch Harry having the same idea, looking at his mouth.

He acted on his wants before anything else happened, peering down at Harry’s crotch. His assumptions were correct. His cock was protruding outwards, sticking up proudly beneath his underwear and trousers.

“You weren’t even watching the tape,” Draco whispered to him. He dragged his eyes upwards again, lingering on his lips for another second or two before making eye contact again. He hadn’t realised until this point, but Harry had gotten closer to him. Their knees were touching and Harry’s face was only inches away from his own, side by side almost.

“I didn’t have to,” Harry replied. He nudged their noses together. “You did this.”

“It would have been me in the tape too.”

“Not nearly as good as the real thing.”

“Not a fan of pornography?” Draco smirked. “Probably why you took this case.”

Draco could feel Harry’s breath on his lips, warm and inviting. He said, “Definitely not the only reason.”

He felt Harry’s dry and rugged palm on his cheek for the second time. His fingertips stretched to reach the very tip of his earlobe, which he rubbed thoughtlessly. Draco was ready now, ready to lean in and finally just fucking _do it_.

“Are you two done fucking yet?” An annoyingly loud voice came from the other side of the door. Five knocks. “You’ve another guest, Draco.”

Draco balled up his fists and bit his lip, shaking his head. He heard Harry chuckle.

“I’m unable to say that I’m going to murder her, but I really want to harm her right now,” Draco whispered against his lips. “And whoever this fucking guest is.”

“If it’s Ron, I’ll take the blame.”

“If you think that he’s not currently shagging Hermione, you’re more thick than you look.”

“Boys!” Pansy called again. Another knock. “I will let myself in!”

“Coming!” Harry called back.

“Lack of,” Draco muttered. “Sadly. How are we supposed to greet guests like-” He paused, and gestured to their lower bodies. “ _This.”_

“Magic,” Harry said, grin still evident.

They came out of the bedroom with disillusionment charms over their crotches, but it didn’t hide much. Pansy would be able to see through their red cheeks and heavy breathing, lingering stares.

“And here they are, at last.” Pansy stood up from her seat on the sofa. She hadn’t stopped drinking, by the looks of it, expression dreamy and wine glass in hand.

“Who’s this guest that’s so important that he has to distract us from our research?” Harry asked.

“Research.” She rolled her eyes. “That’s what they’re calling it nowadays, apparently, darling.”

“Is that so?” A new but familiar voice asked. Draco couldn’t mistake it.

“Blaise?” He said, expression brightening. He hurried down the hallway to look into the kitchen. “You’re here.”

“Did Pansy not tell you?” He smiled back at him.

“She told me that you were daft enough to try and apparate across countries.” Draco laughed, pulling him in for a hug. He accepted, but flinched and pulled away after a second.

“Ah, ah,” he said. He lifted up his shirt slowly, revealing not only his extremely toned abs, but bandages upon bandages that seemed to extend down his legs and up to his chest. “Not my brightest idea.”

“My– These are splinches?” Draco asked, looking at them with curiosity and worry.

“Yep,” Blaise said. “Hurt like a motherfucker.”

“You were treated?” Harry asked, letting himself in on the conversation. Blaise looked up at him, expression blank.

“No, I wasn’t. These bandages appeared out of nowhere,” he replied sarcastically. “It was almost like magic.”

Harry looked away sheepishly, and found himself sitting down on the couch next to where Pansy was previously. He wasn’t looking over at Blaise and Draco anymore but instead at his feet.

“You manage to look good while being in pain from this.”

“Oh?” Blaise raised an eyebrow at him. “Feeling frisky, Draco?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “But not because of you.”

“Oh, charming,” Blaise said in return, but smiled. He lifted a teacup to his lips. “So, are you going to tell me who this bint is that seems to think that he has the right to do this _shit_?"

“Theodore Nott’s father."

Blaise dropped the teacup and it smashed on the tiles of the floor, small shards of porcelain the same colour as Pansy’s face were littered across the kitchen. Neither spoke, but Pansy almost missed the counter when she moved to place her wine glass down. She stepped closer to them, barefoot but not seeming to care about the risk of having anything stuck in her toes. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was agape, as if this idea could not possibly be true, and not entertained for a thousand years. Blaise looked similar to her, but he seemed more immediately furious than shocked straight away.

“Don’t kid, Draco,” she said.

“I’m not,” he promised.

“How do you know?”

“It adds up. The mark reacting, probably to his own, he knows where I live, he speaks French, he has motive…”

“It's all there,” Harry added.

“I’m going to kill the bastard,” Blaise said. “I’m going to make him wish he was never born.”

“Blaise,” Draco said. “He’s not worth the trip to Azkaban.”

“He deserves a fucking lifetime there.” He turned his attention to Harry. “What have you done about this?”

“I’ve been attempting to contact Ron about this. I’ve already let the Ministry know.” Draco wondered when he’d had the chance to do that. “Theodore Nott Junior and Senior are to be taken in for questioning. It will be taken care of, don’t worry.”

Blaise eyed him up and down. “Suppose you can leave now, mate.”

“I’m legally required to stay here with Draco.”

“ _Draco_ , now, is it? You two _have_ gotten cozy.”

“Fuck off,” Draco said. “Are you staying? Because you’ll need to stay out here with Pansy.”

“I’m injured and you’re making me sleep on a dirty couch?”

Draco held back a laugh now. Needed to wash the cushions. With a flick of his wand, which was previously tucked away in his waistband, the cushions were spotless. He waved it again, and the couch turned itself into a nifty little bed.

“Happy?” he said. “Couldn’t have done that yourself?”

Blaise smirked at him and pat him twice on the shoulder. Draco saw Harry on his phone again, a troubled expression on his face. His own demeanour changed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Luna just text me to check the Daily Prophet. She said she’s worried that I didn’t know about the new article.”

Pansy had it up before he even finished speaking. She waved her wand and it updated to the current day. She read it out clearly, “Enemies Harry Potter and Death-Eater Draco Malfoy Too Close For Comfort."

They all waited for her to continue. Draco snatched it out of her hands and continued to read. “Saviour of the Wizarding World and Victor against Lord Voldemort, Harry Potter has been seen numerous times coming to and from the apartment of one Death-Eater Draco Malfoy, son to Lucius Malfoy, Lord Voldemort’s right hand man who now spends his days in Azkaban prison.” His grip was creasing the paper. “Due to the previous words of one Harry Potter about Draco Malfoy’s profession, rumours have sparked about whether or not these visits have been with pure intentions. Draco Malfoy resorted to prostitution after the _Second_ _Wizarding War_ after being unable to find work due to him holding the Dark Mark on his arm, a sign of complete submission and loyalty to Lord Voldemort. When interviewed, Malfoy’s next-door neighbour, Agatha Bumble said this; ‘ _That boy has never known to quiet himself, but I know what I’ve been hearing. I wouldn’t dare speak ill of Harry Potter, but I believe he’s making the wrong choices coming here.’_

“It’s also been suggested that Harry Potter is working with one Draco Malfoy against a proposed stalker, says an inside source. Numerous photos of Malfoy have been published on a Muggle website named _Twitter,_ though have known to be taken down soon after they are posted. Harry Potter was due to wed one Ginny Weasley, sister to Potter’s closest friend, though he had called it off for reasons remaining unknown. It is not unwise to now think that Draco Malfoy has had some part in the separation of the two Gryffindor lovers, perhaps an evil scheme that he is planning again.”

“Stop reading it, Draco,” Harry said.

“Sorry, Potter,” Draco stared up at him. “It seems that they think they’ve unveiled my master plan of bedding you to allow the Dark Lord to come back once again. I’m going to go and have a very stern word with Mrs. Bumble, if you excuse me.” He placed down the paper and made for the exit, but Pansy stopped him short, a hand on his chest to prevent him from moving forward.

“Sit down, Draco,” she said. “This isn’t the end of the world.”

“What I didn’t want was more attention, Pansy, and look what’s happened!” He turned to Harry. “I _told you_ . I told you this would happen if you stayed here and look! I was right! Now my business will be ruined, nobody will want to come and give me money, all because you were _legally required_ to stay here!”

“I’m sorry, Draco.”

“Don’t apologise,” Draco said. “I don’t want you to apologise! I want you to see that you were wrong!”

“I wasn’t wrong.”

“You were!”

“You’re alive, and you’re safe, Draco. Your business comes second to your life.”

“My business _is_ my life, Potter! How many times do I need to tell you? I can’t go anywhere else, I have no other way of living,” he shouted.

“I will help you, Draco.”

“I don’t _want_ your help!”

“You do. You just don’t want it to benefit me.”

Draco picked up the paper again. “My mother’s going to see this, you know? My family name had managed to keep out of the papers for months. It even mentions my father. She’s going to go spare.”

“It’ll be okay,” Blaise said.

“Wishful bloody thinking.” Draco read the words over and over again. “People are going to seriously believe that I’m up to something evil now that this has come out.”

“Nobody is going to believe that, Draco,” Pansy said, trying to comfort him.

“Why shouldn’t they? No doubt people will be sure that I’ve placed Potter under the _Imperius_ curse, or something. Oh, yes, look!” He pointed to another paragraph on the paper. It read, _Draco Malfoy has used numerous Unforgivables in the past, including the Imperius curse on one Katie Bell in his Seventh year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Familiar with and skilled in the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy is to be investigated on whether or not he is up to no good with our Saviour._ “I’m to be _investigated,_ apparently. Potter, was I not to be told?”

“That’s bullshit,” Harry said. “You’re not being investigated for anything, trust me.”

Draco pointed at the paper with his wand and said quietly, “ _Incendio.”_

The paper burst into flames immediately. The other three stepped away from the heat while Draco stood over it, the fire reflecting in the wetness of his eyes. He watched the beige parchment turn dark brown as the flames engulfed and shrunk it down, the people in the moving images scared of their doom.

“ _Aguamenti,_ ” Harry cast, wandless. Water spilled from his fingertips onto the fire, putting out the flames with little work. It stopped as soon as the fire went out, and he stepped closer to Draco. The people in the moving pictures seemed relieved by this spell. “You need to calm down.”

Draco turned and swiftly placed the tip of his wand to Harry’s jaw, panting, his gaze almost daring him to say another word. “Don’t you tell me to calm down.”

“Put the wand down, Draco. I don’t want to do something I may regret. I’m sure you don’t either.”

“You wouldn’t regret a thing,” Draco said. “Do it.”

Harry looked over at Pansy. Draco hated how calm he looked, not an ounce of terror had passed over his face.

“ _Incarcerous,_ ” Pansy cast. Draco dropped his wand and his arms twisted behind his back, sinking down to his knees as the tight ropes slipped around him, cutting off movement in his limbs. He sat on his feet, numbing them further, and his head was drawn down. He was shaking.

“Draco,” Harry said. Draco hated how soft his voice sounded.

“Shut up,” he whispered, embarrassed.

“I think you’ll feel better after a long sleep,” Blaise suggested.

“Shut _up,”_ he said again. He could feel Harry looking at him with pity.

“ _Relashio_ ,” Harry cast. The ropes withdrew from Draco but he remained still on the floor. “Come on, Draco. Let’s go to bed.”

 

*

 

Draco woke up with a banging headache. He brought his hand to his head and held it to try and make himself feel better, groaning. He was very slowly remembering the events of the night beforehand, and he felt some movement underneath his waist. An arm, trying to snake itself out from beneath him. 

“The fuck?” Draco whispered, stretching his arms above his head. There was a large lump of heat next to him and he was more than happy to lean into it, rolling over and tucking his head against it.

“Draco,” a small voice whispered next to him. He scowled and snuggled closer to the source. “Draco,” it said again. “Wake up.”

“No…” he whined. “‘S warm.”

“I know, but come on. We need to have a talk.”

“I don’t like the sound of those words,” Draco said. “Can’t I just stay here forever?”

“That would be nice, but no, sadly not."

Draco sighed and finally opened his eyes. He was flush against Harry’s body, and he realised that the heavenly voice that he thought was speaking to him in his dreams was indeed coming from the same man. He cleared his throat and felt his face burn up.

“I didn’t know you emitted so much warmth,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood.

“You’re just permanently cold, I think.”

Draco rolled over, away from him. He yawned and stretched out his arms again, not missing how Harry’s eyes strayed yet again. He sat up and pushed the covers off of him, and gazed down curiously at the burn marks on his wrists.

“The ropes,” Harry supplied. “Parkinson seems to like them a bit on the tight side.”

“Nothing wrong with that, is there, Potter?” he asked, not looking at him. He was still gazing at his wrists.

“Are we back to Potter now?”

“Why shouldn’t we be?”

“The line of intimacy you were so scared to cross? I think it’s vanished.”

Draco looked back at him for a moment. He looked at all of the disheveled sheets and shook his head. “I would disagree. There’s plenty intimate acts that we’ve not done together.” He paused. “Are Blaise and Pansy included in this _talk_ we need to have, or is it just between you and I?”

“Just me and you, Draco.”

“Proceed, then.” Draco turned away again. He heard Harry move.

“Would you look at me?”

“Must I?”

“I thought Pure-bloods were raised to be polite. Surely it’s rude to not look at someone whilst you’re having a conversation with them.”

Draco grit his teeth but turned. Harry had his glasses on now, but he was still a mess, his hair sticking up in every which way possible.

“What is it?”

“I could have you arrested,” Harry said.

Draco sneered. “Could you?”

“Raising your wand to an Auror like that is a crime.”

“I’ll be sure to send you love letters from Azkaban, then. I’ll have my father sign some of them as well.”

“Draco…”

“What?” he asked. “Stop saying my name like that!”

“Like what?”

“Just- Just stop,” he said.

“Why are you so upset, Draco?” Draco shook his head and covered his mouth, his chest heaving. “Tell me.”

“You’ve ruined me,” he croaked. “I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I spoke to some people earlier,” Harry said.

“Good for you, you know how to use your tongue.”

He didn’t miss the little chuckle that Harry gave to that sentence. “The Minister of Magic, to be precise.”

Draco whipped his head up to look at him again. “What?”

“He’s agreed to you allow you to start Healer training.”

Draco’s eyes had never been so wide. He stared at Harry in amazement, almost not believing a word that he was saying. “ _Why?”_

“You deserve it,” Harry said. “You can’t keep doing this for the rest of your life. You’re worth more than for all of these men to just keep– You know.”

Draco’s mouth stretched up at the side slightly. “You sure you’re not just a bit jealous?”

Harry shrugged and smiled back. “Am I allowed to be?”

Draco’s eyes dropped again, and he was a bit lost for words. “I’ve never… Had… Anything like that.” He cleared his throat. “The closest thing was Theo and look how that’s all turned out.”

“Well, you can be one hundred percent sure that my dad won’t be here to do that.”

Draco realised his mistake. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly.

“Don’t.” Harry laughed. “It’s alright. I was kidding.”

They sat and smiled. Draco broke the silence. “I’m sorry for last night.”

“It’s alright,” Harry said.

“I threatened you. I put my wand to your neck.”

“And it’s alright, Draco. Don’t worry. Nobody got hurt.” He looked down at Draco’s wrists. “Well…”

“Would you think I’m odd if I said that wasn’t at all tight enough for me?”

Harry’s face grew crimson, and he shook his head. “Er, nope. Not _odd,_ ” he said. “Can I just say… It was a bit sexy when you pressed your wand to me like that.”

“Into rough play, are you?” Draco smirked.

“I think you’re just really attractive when you’re angry.”

Draco raised his brows. “Perhaps you should piss me off some more then."

“Maybe another time,” Harry said, and kissed him.

Draco’s eyes remained open in shock for a few seconds after their lips first made contact. He was frozen in place, lips compressed against Harry’s wet ones, soft and inviting. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears and was sure that that wasn’t at all healthy, but allowed his eyelids to flutter closed. He let himself relax against Harry, beginning to slowly move his lips against his. Harry’s hand was on his face again, just as rugged as Draco recalled it to be. Draco’s hands, however, remained still by his side, too scared to move them and overstep any boundaries. Draco wasn’t a stranger to kissing. He’d had more experience than one man probably should, but in that moment it felt as if the world froze, and he’d forgotten all that was important to the situation.

Harry’s lips were unlike any he’d had the misfortune to meet with before. His lips were perfect, the situation was _perfect_ , and Draco found himself trying not to melt. There had been no attempt on either side to try and introduce tongue into the mix yet, but it wasn’t as if they were third years. They’d both done it before. But with each other, it felt different. Harry had leaned further into the kiss, his other hand pressed to the small of Draco’s back, and Draco suddenly felt the ability to move his limbs again. He slowly lifted his hands, and both came to rest on Harry’s cheeks, his stubbly face more than piquing Draco’s interest. Harry pulled Draco closer towards him by his back and the hand that had been on his face travelled to his hair, threading his fingers through the silky blond locks.

“You frustrate me,” Draco said in a hushed voice. He rose to his knees on the bed sheets as to get an vantage point, and Harry gazed up into his eyes with a grin filled with achievement plastered on his face.

“In a good way, I’m hoping,” he said. His hand caressed Draco’s back, his fingers dancing over the skin and pressing into it deeply.

“In every which way you possibly could.” Draco kissed him once again, allowing a small whimper out as he at last felt Harry’s tongue tease his lower lip. It was brief, but so evident that Draco immediately opened up for him, pressing his tongue forwards at the same time. Their tongues met just as eagerly as their lips had, tenderly courting each other with their mouths, withdrawing and entering time after time before letting them dance together. He could feel his lips getting swollen and loved the situation even more so, Draco didn’t think he’d ever kissed one person for such a long amount of time in the past five years.

Harry pulled out of the kiss for a little breather, and seemingly just to take a gander at what he’d earned. He was eyeing Draco’s body so possessively that Draco thought he may faint. Harry’s hands were on the sides of his stomach, and he gently rubbed his thumbs in circles over the pale skin. Draco moved closer towards him, impossibly close, and he found himself sat in Harry’s lap, and Merlin, he was definitely glad that neither of them were wearing anything but underwear. Draco could feel Harry’s erection against his thigh, hot and heavy, bulging and desperate to come out of the fabric prison it had been confined to. Draco nudged his hips forward ever so slightly and he watched Harry gasp, his mouth tumbling open and his eyes half shut. Draco bit his lip before moving his crotch forward once again, only this time it wasn’t Draco’s thigh that felt him. He could feel Harry’s cock against his own now, and the buzz that flew through his body made him jolt in Harry’s hold. He attempted to catch his breath but Harry seemed to have other ideas for them both; immediately bucking up against Draco so that they rubbed against each other once again. They heaved against one another’s naked chests, Draco could feel Harry’s body hair against him and he found himself loving it. He normally didn’t; he normally thought it disgusting and unhygienic when men left their bodies unkempt, but it was so appealing to Draco in that moment.

“You’re wonderful,” Harry whispered to him, hot breath tickling Draco’s wetted lips. Draco’s cheeks tinted at the compliment, and he rolled his hips down again - almost as if it was a _thank you._ He started up a slow pace, rocking his hips against Harry’s in a satisfying rhythm, Draco clearly more experienced than his partner but enjoying that. They both breathed heavily against one another, gazing at each other instead of kissing, though it was evident that that was not at all off of the table. Draco began to hear Harry’s grunting, and as he admired it, he watched his eyes close out of bliss. Harry bit his bottom lip and Draco watched it with lust, his own mouth hanging open with awe. His gaze wouldn’t stray from the other’s lips, red and ravished at Draco’s own doing. He felt proud of his handiwork.

“Finish for me,” Draco whispered against his lips, taking control of the situation; a new thing for him. “Come on, feel me. Touch me.”

“Fuck,” Harry choked out. His hands roamed over Draco’s chest until they came to rest on his hips, and helped to guide him against his cock, harder and better for them both. His eyes reopened to admire Draco’s body, until his gaze refocused downwards, the sight of their cocks separated by the fabric yet grinding together, creating wet stains at the tips of the bulges in their underwear was enough to bring Harry to orgasm. He shuddered beneath Draco as the latter felt Harry release in his underwear, his cock twitching against his own, and Draco couldn’t help himself. He continued to dry hump against the man, not considering how sensitive he would be, until he came as well. He brought a hand to his mouth on impulse and bit down on his bottom lip hard, allowing whimpers and sincere moans to empty from his throat. He felt sweat trickle down the side of his head as he soiled his underwear with his cum, feeling shame but the elation of being on Cloud Nine.

They sat together, trying to recollect their breath. Draco felt Harry’s gaze on him and found himself unable to meet his eyes. He couldn’t help but smile slightly, the reality of what they’d done resurfacing to him. It had finally happened, then. He was sure that Harry would have wanted to let good old Voldemort win if he’d known that this was the way his life was going to go afterwards.

Harry cupped Draco’s face with both of his hands, and didn’t wait before leaning in to give him another kiss. Draco responded eagerly, softly. He kissed him with earnest, both of their hearts drumming rapidly against their chests. Draco could feel not only his own, but Harry’s as well when he got close enough.

Harry pulled away, but kept their faces close, their noses nestled next to each other’s. He said, “So… About that line that we couldn’t cross.”

Draco laughed with him, finally looking up and gazing into his eyes. He could see himself in the reflection of his glasses. He spoke quietly, “I don’t think there was ever a line.”

“Could there perhaps be one made from rope?”

Draco felt his face heat up more, if that was at all possible. “You know that they’ve probably been listening outside the door this whole time.”

“I took precautions. The _Muffliato_ charm does come in handy when it comes to private conversations.”

“Wasn’t really much of a conversation.”

“All the better.”

“I feel as if we should have a shower.” Draco gestured down towards their crotches.

“You do like your showers, don’t you?” Harry smirked. “Could we perhaps wear face masks too?”

“Oh, shut up.” Draco hit him on the shoulder. “Come though, honestly. I feel disgusting.”

“I feel brilliant.” He grinned. He looked like an idiot.

Harry muttered something that seemed to undo the spell he’d performed earlier on. Draco could hear his friends outside, apparently discussing the likelihood of a first year being able to transfigure an apple into a cat. How stupid, Draco ought to tell them, not even Dumbledore himself would have been able to perform a feat like that at such a young age.

“We’re going to have to leave the room in order to get to the bathroom,” Harry said, smug.

“Congratulations, Harry, after maybe three weeks, you’ve managed to find your bearings,” he remarked rudely, but the smile on his face let Harry know he was just teasing. He threw his leg over Harry so that he was no longer straddling him, enjoying watching Harry’s face drop at the action. He leaned in to give another kiss to the dejected man when he heard the doorknob turn, and the door slam against the wall as it was shoved open.

“Oh, my,” Pansy said, grin as wide and dark as ever. “Oh, oh my.”

Blaise was behind her, his expression gleeful and triumphant. “I told you, Pans.”

“You did,” she agreed. Her gaze was settled on Harry’s crotch, the remnants of their activities having soaked through his underwear, creating a bigger wet patch than before. It was the same for Draco, but, in a panic when he heard the door, he vanished the sticky substance from himself. He probably should’ve warned Harry as well. “And, oh, what a hunch you had. What a _sight._ ”

Harry flicked his fingers and the door slammed in Pansy’s face.

“I’ve tried to be more accepting of your Slytherin friends but, they just get so…”

“Slytherin?” Draco smiled. “If that were your friends, they’d probably come in and try to hex my balls off. I think my friends had a rather positive reaction.”

“Hermione wouldn’t,” he said. “But Ron… Yeah. I could see that.”

“Do they know that you’re gay?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ve known for ages.”

“And Ginevra?”

Harry hesitated. “She was lovely about it. It was hard for us anyway. She was off playing with the Harpies, I barely got to see her. I think me telling her that I was gay was an easy way out for the both of us."

“I can’t imagine Molly Weasley took it too well,” he said. When Harry prompted him to explain, he continued, “She had the chance for her family to marry into an overwhelming amount of wealth. Surely they’d need it?”

He didn’t miss how Harry’s jaw tensed. “They were all rewarded for their work in the War. Ginny working for the Harpies earns more than I do now, although being an Auror is fantastic, and Ron brings home enough money then too.”

“Ah, understandable.” Draco nodded. “Good. I’m… Happy for them.”

“So, are we going to talk about it?”

“It?” Draco asked, feigning confusion.

“Us.”

“We can,” Draco said. “Over breakfast. I think a full English shall satisfy your pig-like appetite?”

Harry grinned at him, pulling him in by the waist for another quick snog.

“I’d like marmite on toast, if you don’t mind!” Pansy shouted through the door. Draco made a mental note to jinx her later.

 

*

 

The four of them sat around the breakfast bar, eating Draco’s brilliantly made breakfast in hunger. They were all starving, apparently, as while Draco was eating his food like a normal, respectable wizard, the other three were behaving as pigs in a heaven of food scraps. He stared at them in distaste as he stabbed and cut up one of his sausages.

“Have you ever had sex on this breakfast bar, Draco?” Pansy asked. They all looked at her.

“Sorry, what the fuck?” Draco asked. The answer was yes, but they didn’t need to know that. Especially not while they were all eating food on it, he didn’t want it coming back up from anybody.

“I was just wondering, that’s all.” She shrugged and pushed some bacon into her gob. She chewed quickly. “Is it not a valid thought to wonder if the surface on which you’re eating is sanitary?”

“I haven’t had sex on your plate, Pansy, don’t worry.”

“Well, at least that’s reassuring. You know, I never thought there’d be a day where I was sitting down and eating breakfast civilly with Harry Potter,” she said. “Even if he’d been sorted into Slytherin or something."

“I almost was,” Harry said.

“What?” Draco looked up at him. Harry’s plate was empty, and it even looked as if he’d licked off all of the sauce.

“Mm, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin. I asked it to put me in Gryffindor, though,” he explained.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. “I’m entitled to find that a bit rude, Potter. Though I suppose I understand. You wanted to keep your sexuality under wraps, it’d be easy surrounded by Gryffindor boys.” He smirked. “If you had to sleep in a room with _me_ for eight years, though… You wouldn’t have been able to help yourself. Isn’t that right, Draco?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It was three times.”

“Four,” Pansy said.

“Five!” Blaise grinned. “He’s forgetting the night with the Firewhiskey and spin the bottle.”

“That should hardly count.”

“How the hell did you guys manage to smuggle Firewhiskey into your dorms?” Harry asked, bewildered.

They all looked at him. Blaise had a glint in his eye. “Maybe you’d know if you were sorted into our house.”

“Oh, come on. The only people I knew were Ron and his brothers, and they were in Gryffindor. I was worried nobody would like me.”

“Nobody liking Harry Potter?” Draco said. “Imagine. And, _no,_ he wasn’t the only person you knew.” He recalled meeting _Harry in Madam Malkin’s.._ He definitely hadn’t given off the right impression.

“No offence, Draco, but you really were a pompous prick.” He smiled at him.

Draco nodded. “Understandable.”

“So,” Pansy said. “Are you going to let us in on what happened this morn?”

“What happened?” Draco asked.

“I’m wondering.” Blaise picked up one of Draco’s sausages and wrapped his lips around the tip. He raised his eyebrows suggestively before biting into it and dropping it down on his plate.

“You know, I think I’d rather die than ever hear about Hermione and Ron’s sex life,” Harry told them.

“But you’re _gay_ , Harry,” Pansy said. “It’s understandable.”

“I don’t think it’s because of that. I think it’s because—”

“I do. Besides, we’re happy for him. We don’t regularly ask about his hookups. This one is clearly drawn from passion.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Clearly.”

“I don’t think you know much about boundaries, Pansy,” Harry said.

Blaise laughed. “Why? Don’t want to talk about him sucking your–”

Potter flicked his hand and said, “ _Langlock."_

Blaise’s tongue became attached to the roof of his mouth, and he stopped being able to talk. He whined and huffed, and sat back with his arms crossed.

“You deserved that, Blaise,” Draco told him. Blaise flipped him the finger.

They all looked up at the door as three knocks were pressed against it. Draco was honestly tired of all of these visitors now. When was the last time he’d had some privacy?

“Come in!” he called out, and Ronald Weasley walked through the door. Harry grinned and stood up, while the other three all collectively groaned.

“Lovely to see you too,” Weasley said. “I’m not going to ask why Parkinson and Zabini are here. Harry, care to explain why you were blowing up my phone last night? I was a bit busy.”

“Bet you were, Weasley.” Draco grinned.

Harry looked back at him. “I won’t hesitate to use that hex on you too, Draco.” Draco looked up at him with daring eyes, biting his lip. Harry looked away before anybody else could notice he was staring. He looked back at Weasley. “We figured out who the culprit is,” he said. “I’ve already told the Ministry. They’re locating him now.”

“Right… Uh…” Weasley looked a bit awkward. “Listen… Have you checked that website?”

“No?”

“Uh… It’s you,” he said, and went to go fishing for his phone. “And… Him. It was taken down right away, but…”

Pansy and Blaise stood immediately, crowding them both. Weasley refused to show them the photos, Draco was thankful for that.

“You saved them?” Draco asked. Weasley shrugged.

“Evidence, as much as I don’t like seeing it.”

Draco cast _Accio_ while the other two were distracted, and took a good look. He scrolled through the photos, and found himself immensely relieved. None of them were from their earlier activity, thank Merlin, instead all of the photos were of when they slept. In some, Harry was clearly still awake. He was watching Draco, in a few, tucking him under the covers or playing with his hair. Then it was of both of them asleep; cuddled together, Harry’s arms around him. His face had gone beetroot. The Prophet would go mad at these photos, and every other Wizarding newspaper there was. He looked up at the four of them, all of them looking for his reaction expectantly. He shrugged.

“There’s been worse photos spread of me.” He threw the phone over to Harry for him to look. Their reactions were almost the same, except now the other had had a taste of what it had been like for Draco for the previous weeks. He watched Harry’s face closely. He looked angry.

“He's going to Azkaban for this, mate,” Weasley said. “No doubt. Especially now you’re involved. They’re gonna think it’s a plan to kill you or something, that the Death Eaters are back for you.”

“All Death Eaters are in Azkaban already. Either that or they’re dead,” Draco said.

“Not all of them,” Weasley replied. It was clear that he didn’t just mean Nott Sr.

“Ron.” Harry scowled at him. “Didn’t Hermione say to try and be civil?”

“You’re being more than _civil_ with him there, mate.” Weasley gestured to his phone, which Harry was still holding. “Honestly. It’s probably a ruse to get you to trust him.”

“Come again?” Pansy smiled sickeningly at him. There was poison in the bluff of sweetness.

“Ron, seriously,” Harry warned him.

“Sorry, sorry. I just worry, mate.” Weasley shrugged his shoulders and pat Harry twice on the arm. “You ready to go?”

“Go?” Draco asked. “Go where?”

“You two need to go to the Ministry?” He prompted. “You need to give your statements.”

“Now?” Draco groaned. “I’ve not even finished my breakfast!”

“Have they already taken Nott in?” Harry asked.

“Yep, put up a huge fight and all. It was mad,” Weasley said.

Draco flicked his wand and all of the dishes started to clean themselves in the kitchen sink. He sighed, and nodded. “Let me get dressed, and we can go.”

 

*

 

“Here, do you have something in mind?” Harry asked him, sliding over a quill, ink and a piece of parchment.

“I was intending on just writing down all that’s happened?” Draco held the quill loosely in his grip.

“Good. You know what to do,” Harry said, face flushing red. “We’re going to have to record you saying your statement for the Wizengamot.”

“Merlin.” Draco sighed. “Don’t you think I’ve had enough of cameras recently?"

Harry shrugged, smiling in an apology. The room they were in was isolated but not one that they used for interrogation. It was bright, white walls and flooring, as opposed to the interrogation rooms, which were dark and intended to intimidate. They were alone.

“I’ll leave you to write it.” Harry stood up with a gulp. Draco stared up at him, pausing what he was writing.

“Why?”

“Er, I just thought you’d want some privacy?”

Draco looked back down at his parchment slowly. “Stay. I don’t like being alone here.”

“Huh?” Harry frowned. “This room is meant to be comforting.”

“I mean the Ministry, not this poncy room, you dolt.”

Harry smiled, understanding and pity on his face. Draco tried to ignore it. He tried to write down all that he could on the parchment, having to turn it over to get all of it on at one point. He and Harry sat in a comfortable silence. He was far more happy with the other man being there with him, otherwise it would just feel as if he was back there for more trouble.

After a while, Draco held up the parchment and said, “I’m finished.”

“Great! Good.” Harry held his hand out. “We’ll have to read it over but then you’ll need to read it out for the evidence.”

“Alright,” Draco said, passing it to him. “Hurry it up.”

Harry read it over first, before he had to hand it over for Weasley to read. Draco hated seeing those eyes of pity from them both, and Harry knew it. Draco didn’t blame him, didn’t bother. He wanted to go home and have a nice mug of hot chocolate to himself, and spend some time alone with his friends. After that, maybe meet up with Harry again, perhaps at his house this time. Or maybe even… At a restaurant, for an actual, proper _date._ He couldn’t remember the last time he was taken on a date, courted with manners, as a pureblood should be. After the date, Harry could take him back home, and perhaps they could share a bottle of wine, share some kisses, share a bed…

“Mr. Malfoy,” Weasley interrupted his thoughts, leaning through the door. “We’re ready for you to record your statement.”

“Must I be moved again or may I stay here?”

“You can stay,” Harry told him. “I’m just going to move across the room. I can’t be in the shot while you read it.”

Draco nodded and picked up the parchment again. He cleared his throat and read it over quickly as he waited for the go ahead.

“My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy, and I am twenty-four years old. On the twenty-first of September, I had Auror Potter and Auror Weasley arrive at the front door of my residence, telling me that an unknown wizard has been spreading photos of me on a muggle website called _Twitter._ The pictures in question were taken without my knowledge or consent and them being published was without my knowledge and consent as well. The photos range from myself partaking in sexual activities to my everyday life, such as eating or reading.” He looked over at Harry with a pause, before continuing. “On the twenty-second of September, after one night of Auror Potter staying with me for protection, even more photos from the previous day and the current had been posted. From when I got up in the morning, to Auror Weasley and Auror Potter visiting me, and when I came home with one of my clients. These photos were also sexually explicit and invasive. After this, Auror Potter suggested to me that cameras should be set up around my house for security purposes. It had also come to light that somebody had been inside of my bedroom. I had shut the curtains beforehand, and they had been opened in order to get all of the photos. It’s impossible to open them from the outside. That night, when I entered my bedroom, the window was closed. When I left the bedroom, on the twenty-third of September, the window was wide open. I didn’t realise until later on that day, but somebody had written in large letters, on my wall, the words _‘trop facile,’_ which I understood as the French words for ‘too easy.’ It looked as if it was written in blood, though as I understood, it wasn’t human. Nothing happened for quite a while then, only the occasional couple of photos being uploaded. But then, last night, on the sixth of November, photos of both myself and Auror Potter were uploaded, again, without consent.” He cleared his throat and placed down the parchment when he was finished speaking. His mouth felt dry.

“Thank you, Mr Malfoy,” Harry said once he’d flicked the camera off. He smiled at him. “You were brilliant, Draco.”

“Yes,” Draco said. “Now I just have to be as brilliant in court. Shall I need a lawyer?”

“That… Depends on whether or not the opposition is going to try and turn this against you. I think it’s going to go that way, though. He’s got a malicious lawyer.”

“Then I’ll get one even more so. I’m going to take them apart.”

“I can imagine. You’re the most argumentative and annoying person I know.”

“Thank you.” Draco’s eyes followed Weasley as he trotted around the room. “Weasley, would you mind fetching me some tea?”

“I’m not your maid, Malfoy.” Weasley sneered at him.

“Isn’t this the victim’s room? I’m a _victim_ , I’m _scared_ and _fragile_. I’m going to report you for being insensitive to me, Weasley. Bring me comfort.”  

Weasley glared at him before sighing in defeat. He pat Harry twice on the back, before turning and exiting the room. Draco looked around the room again, leaning back in his chair.

“That was rude,” Harry said.

“Can you blame me? That was possibly the most awkward of silences I’ve been in in years. Maybe I just wanted to have you here alone for a couple of minutes.”

Harry blushed. Draco liked seeing him do that, it made him look less intimidating as an Auror. “Why’s that?”

“Are there security cameras in here, Harry?” he asked, his name rolling off of his tongue.

“Looking to kill me, are you?” He smirked.

“Yes, I found this the perfect opportunity.” Draco stood and walked to the other side of the table. “Tell me… Have you ever had your cock sucked whilst on duty?” He sat down on the table, right in front of Harry. He grinned as he felt the other man’s hands on his waist.

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Pity,” Draco said. He watched Harry stand up, towering over him as Draco got pulled closer towards his body. He wrapped his legs around Harry’s hips. “We may have to change that.”

“Ron’s only gone to make tea,” said Harry.

“ _Ron’s only gone to make tea,”_ Draco mocked. He cupped Harry’s jaw. “Surely he can take a hint?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem as if he wants us alone together.”

“All the more reason,” Draco said, drawing his wand. “ _Colloportus,_ ” he cast towards the door with a smile.

“He’s going to try and break in, thinking you’ve got me tied up or something.”

“Maybe I will,” Draco whispered. “Or maybe you’ll be tying me up instead.”

“Maybe,” Harry said with a twitch in his brow. “I think he’d be a bit more pleased to walk in and see that than my dead body.”

“And if I’m undressed?”

“I don’t want him to see that.”

“He already has. Half of the wizarding population has by now.”

“I want it to only be me from now on, okay?” Harry asked. His voice was low and leery.

Draco hesitated. “What does that mean?”

“I want you to think about having a monogamous relationship,” he said. “With me.”

“Really? I was thinking of having one with Pansy instead.”

“Draco.”

“I like it when you say my name,” he told him. “I’m scared.”

“Of me saying your name?”

“Don’t be obtuse.”

Harry smiled softly. “I don’t think you have to be scared, Draco. I’ve been told I’m good at firsts.”

“Oh, yes,” Draco acquiesced. “First to survive the killing curse, first to become a Seeker at such a young age, first to use wandless magic so beautifully and flawlessly.” He paused, licked his lips. “First to make me feel like this."

“Like what?” Harry asked. As if he didn’t know.

“Like I’m on fire whenever you look at me.”

“That doesn’t sound too pleasant,” Harry said.

“Oh, it is.” He leaned towards him, placing a small peck on Harry’s lips.

“Harry?” The doorknob jiggled vigorously. “Why’s the door locked, Harry? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Ron!” Harry shouted. His voice then dropped to that below a whisper, his words ghosting on Draco’s lips. “I told you.”

“He’s daft. I want you.”

“I want you too.” Harry’s gaze fell to his lips.

“I want _this.”_ Draco closed his legs tighter, bringing Harry closer towards him and feeling his bulge snug against his ass. “Now.”

“Harry, let me in!”

“One sec, Ron! Draco’s crying. I’m comforting him.” He smiled at Draco.

Draco raised his eyebrow. “The boy who lied.”

“Reckon I could make you cry, though. If I pushed you that far over the edge…”

Draco stared at him, gaze flickering between Harry’s eyes. “You are exceeding all of my expectations, Potter.”

“Good.”

“ _Harry!_ The tea is bloody hot, mate!”

Draco bit his lip and dropped his legs from around Harry. Their gazes were still focused on each other, and Harry’s grip tightened on Draco’s waist. He leaned in one more time, catching Draco’s lips in a long kiss before sitting back down in his seat. Draco swivelled over the table to get back into his own, and watched as Harry crossed his legs and adjusted his shirt, attempting to try and hide what disruption Draco had caused.

“ _Alohomora,”_ Draco said, and put his wand away. Weasley came bumbling in, almost spilling the tea as he did. There were three cups.

“Here we go,” he said, placing the cups down onto the table. It was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room to look at, as if he continued to stare at Harry then he may as well be dry humping the end of the table anyway, his thoughts running away with themselves. Weasley didn’t seem to notice anything out of the blue. He looked at Draco with concern. “You alright, Malfoy? Properly? I get that this can be a hard time.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Draco said, nodding. He reached over and grabbed his cup of tea; what he _assumed_ was his cup.

“Listen, Malfoy.” Weasley pulled a cup over to himself in his seat next to Harry. Draco tried not to look at him still. “I get that I haven’t been completely civil. I mean… I’ve been thinking about it. You and your mum did help in the war… And you’ve been through some stuff afterwards. This, I mean. I feel for you. And if… If you make Harry happy, then there’s nothing I can do. Not even Hermione would be able to say anything, I reckon.” He looked at Harry with a grin. “When you’ve fallen for Malfoy, you’re just too far gone to help, mate,” he said, his tone teasing.

“Probably true.” Harry smiled. He brought his cup to his lips.

“Picture yourself at thirteen, seeing you right now.” Draco smirked.

“ _That._ ” Harry shook his head. “That is the last thing I want to do.”

“Pansy and Blaise keep asking to see you, by the way, Malfoy,” Weasley said. “I told them no, for the time being. ‘Cause of your emotional distress, and all.”

“My emotional distress.”

“Yes,” Weasley confirmed. “You haven’t even touched that tea that you needed so badly, by the way.”

Awkwardly, Draco lifted his cup to his lips. He sipped at the tea, knowing it was probably made using cheap teabags and sugar. He tried not to let his disgust show on his face. “It’s nice.”

“I’m sure Pansy and Blaise can come in now, Ron,” Harry said. “Seeing his friends will probably help him feel better.”

“I know something that will definitely make me feel better.” Draco glared at Harry. “They don’t need to come in. They’ll proceed to poke fun.”

“They won’t be very pleased to hear that from you.”

“Am I lying?”

Harry chuckled. “Not at all.”

“I don’t know, Harry. They were pretty pissed at me when I told them that they couldn’t come in and see him. Maybe you could go and talk to them?”

“Me?”

“Reckon they just trust you a bit more than they do me. Saviour, and all.”

Harry looked between the two, before sighing. “Fine, I’ll go and talk to them.” His eyes lingered on Draco. “I’ll be right back.”

Draco watched him leave. It wasn’t a terrible view.

“Malfoy,” Ron spoke. Draco redirected his attention.

“Weasley."

“I am… Putting my trust in you. We all are.” His fingers circled the rim of the teacup. “Don’t mess him about, yeah?”

“I’m not,” he replied, coldly. “I don’t even know what I want. I don’t know what’s happening.”

“Looks like you know what you want.”

“I know that I want him.” Draco wasn’t sure why he was telling this to _Weasley._ “But he wants more.”

“You don’t?”

“I did. I thought I stopped. Then he came back.” Draco’s grip tightened on the handle. “And then _everything_ came back.”

“So… You do?”

“Merlin. I don’t know.”

“Me neither, mate. You’re making this too complicated, if you ask me.” Weasley leaned forwards, resting his arms on the table. “He's not been interested in anybody since Gin. Not like this, anyway. And you… You said you don’t think you could get anyone with your job, but Harry knows. He doesn’t mind, does he?”

“He does,” Draco said. “He wants me to stop.”

“I can’t blame him. It’d be safer. Plus, he’d be the only one to…” He paused. “You know… With you.”

“Why should he get to? Why should I put my income on hold for him?”

“I don’t know if he told you, but he spoke to the Minister. You’re able to start Healer training.”

“He did… But until then?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t mind helping you out.”

Draco glared at him. “I don’t want his charity.”

“He doesn’t want to give you his charity! He wants to _help._ He doesn’t see you as someone to help just to get some more self-worth, Malfoy, you _know_ that. He wants to help just so you’ll be better off. He has more money than he knows what to do with, seriously. Let him help you.”

“Then what’s the difference?” Draco asked.

“The difference between what?”

“What I’m doing now? I’ll be sleeping with him and he’ll be giving me money. It’s basically my job anyway.”

“The difference is that you like each other,” Weasley said. “And I have a feeling it’s more than just a… Sexual thing between you both.”

“How would you know?”

“I wouldn’t. Not with you. But I have a feeling about him. He really does fancy you.”

Draco closed his eyes. “I know.”

“And I think you fancy him as well.”

“It really _is_ a childish word, Weasley.”

“Ron.”

He opened his eyes to glare at him. “ _Ronald._ ”

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said. “But you do, don’t you?”

He shifted uncomfortably, folding his arms. “Not that I should tell you.”

“True. You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“You’re infuriating. Yes. Okay. Yes, I fucking _fancy_ him.”

“Good.”

“ _Good?_ I would’ve thought that you’d despise knowing that! You should be blasting hexes at me for attempting to get closer to him.”

“I was paranoid, yeah. But I spoke to Hermione about it… She’s really… Smart.” He looked lovestruck. “You should talk to her. She’d help you.”

“I don’t need Granger to be my therapist, thank you.”

“Granger- _Weasley,_ ” Ron corrected him.

He was ignored. “I have bigger problems on my mind right now than my love life, anyway.”

“This is all going to be over pretty quickly, I think. Everything points against Nott.”

“Unless he brings me into it.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“The Wizengamot is ruthless, Ronald. If they think they can turn it around on us both, they will.”

“Hermione is a lawyer, you know,” he said. “She went to a muggle law school, but that still holds up in the Wizengamot. She’s brilliant.”

“Are you suggesting I hire her?”

“Yes.”

Draco fiddled his fingers.  “I suppose she’s smart enough. She understands the situation…”

“You see? There aren’t any flaws!”

“I won’t be able to afford her. I haven’t paid my bills this month yet, that’ll be everything down the drain.”

“You can pay her after then. How do you know that she’s that expensive?”

“You get paid more if you’re good at what you do,” Draco said.

“Lucky Harry then, huh?” Ron smiled.

“Why am I lucky?” Harry asked, entering the room again. He was alone. “Don’t feel very lucky. They wanted to kill me because I didn’t let them in.”

“They’re like children.”

“I dunno, it’s nice that they’re so concerned,” Ron said.

“I suppose. But they’ve been living in France for the past three years, you’d think that they could spend a morning apart from me.”

“I never knew that you had French genes, Draco,” Harry said. “I don’t know why.”

“It’s quite common for the members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to learn French when they’re young. My mother was born in France, as was her mother. My grandmother grew up there before moving to England,” Draco told them. “Were you taught French, Ronald?”

“Nah, mum gave up after having to teach the first three, I think. I wouldn’t want to imagine trying to teach another language to Fred and George. English was hard enough.” He laughed.

“The first three… That would be… Percy, I remember him. He was very proper. If he weren’t a Weasley, he would have been placed in Ravenclaw, I’m sure. Another is… William Weasley. He’s made a name for himself, marrying a Veela… One could only dream of getting so lucky. He’s living the life every man could only imagine. And then… The last…”

“Charlie,” Ron said.

“Charlie Weasley.” Draco smiled to himself. “Dragonologist. Quite the looker. Best out of your family, easily.”

“How have you seen him?” Ron asked, eyebrows narrowed.

“Third year… When your family went to Egypt. In the papers.”

“Huh. I thought _I_ looked quite good in that photo…”

Draco scoffed. “You looked scarily identical to the rat that you were holding.”

“Bit of a low blow to be told you look like Peter Pettigrew, mate.” Harry laughed. Draco visibly flinched at the name. Harry stopped laughing. “What’s wrong?"

“What’s wrong?” Draco repeated him, rolling his eyes. “Did you forget the part where he lived in my house throughout the war?”

“Bet that was fun,” Ron joked solicitously.

“Delightful. He really was a rat.”

“What did he do?” Harry asked. “In the manor.”

“He was worse than the others,” Draco said. “Except maybe Aunty Bellatrix. But the Dark Lord actually liked her.”

“Don’t call him that,” Harry interrupted him.

“Voldemort,” Draco gave in. “He was so desperate for… Voldemort to notice him, or to like him more. He did anything to get his attention. Aunty Bellatrix didn’t need to do _that_ much, she was one of his most loyal and trusted… But he was… Disgusting.”

“He was disgusting?”

“He’d throw around unforgivables like confetti. At anybody! He cursed my mother, once. That was when I retaliated and Severus had to stop him from going too far.”

“Too far?”

“Why am I getting the feeling that this has turned into an interrogation room?” Draco asked. “His favourite curse was _Crucio_. He was surprisingly good at it, considering at anything else he was wholly abysmal.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said.

“You’ve felt it. You’ve cast it. It’s not the best feeling in the world, is it? But no, don’t be sorry. It’s alright. Not hurting me anymore, is it?”

“I suppose not,” Harry said, looking over at Ron and then down.

“I hope there’s never a third war,” Ron said aloud, though quickly acted flustered, as if he meant to only think it.

“Well, Grindelwald isn’t coming back, and neither is Voldemort. Unless there’s another up and coming evil bastard on the way, I don’t think we have much to worry about.”

“Voldemort,” Draco spoke again. “The name is French. It means _fleeing from death._ ” He gazed at Harry. “Seems like the name suits you more.”

“Your name means _dragon_ in Latin, right?” Harry asked. “And Ron’s siblings were all named after the Knights of the Round Table. I’m just Harry.”

“Harry… A name meaning _army commander._ Noble. The name of the muggle Prince.” Draco looked him up and down. “Suits you, when you think about it.”

“You’re like a human dictionary.” Ron chuckled.

“I’ve done a lot of reading in my spare time over the past couple of years. I think names are very interesting. They say a lot about people. I enjoy studying etymology.”

“You really have changed,” Ron said.

“I should hope so.”

 

*

 

“You _bastard!_ ” Pansy shouted. “ _Va te faire enculer! "_  

“I’m sorry.” Draco wrapped his arms around her stiffly as he smothered him with an overwhelmingly suffocating hug.

“Why did you not let us in? We were worried, you fucking dipshit!”

“I’m _sorry,”_ Draco said again.

“You wait, I will smack you so hard you don’t even be able to remember what the punishments from your father felt like in comparison!”

“Pansy.”

“Disgusting! I am _appalled._ ”

“You sound like my mother, I’m utterly disturbed.”

“I have half a mind to call her. Are you feeling okay in the head? You’d rather spend time with those two than with _us?_ ”

“In case you missed the memo, I’m spreading for Potter, and Weasley is getting his wife to be my lawyer. Spending time alone with them _is_ in my best interest at the moment.”

“We could have been in there instead of sitting out here like bloody lemons! People thought that we were in for something, I could tell it. The looks we were getting, oh, Blaise had to hold me back from hexing Ogden’s heini off!”

“I’m sorry,” Draco said again. He pulled away from her and tried to steady her, his hands gripping firmly on her arms. “Where is Blaise anyway?”

“Oh,” she paused. “Harry is undoing the hex he placed on him earlier. The one that stopped him from talking. I wouldn’t do it for him, it was quite satisfying to rant without any interruptions, so I didn’t undo it myself.”

“Rant about what?”

“How much I hate you for leaving us.”

“I’m sorry.” He pat her on the head. “Were you really so concerned that you came out without any makeup on?”

“ _That_ is all you can say?”

“I can’t even look at your mug. Eugh. Haven’t I been through enough, now I have to go through visual trauma as well?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy, I _will_ smack you.”

“Where?”

“You’re a fucking—”

“Ladies, ladies,” Blaise Zabini’s voice carried into the room, musky as he hadn’t used it for several hours. He looked very smug. “No need to fight over me.”

“We really weren’t.” Pansy’s fists were clenched, making crescent shapes in her skin from her nails.

“That’s what they all say,” Blaise said. Ron and Harry came in behind him.

“Can’t imagine why,” Ron remarked.

“Since my voice is back, I think we should go and celebrate. Champagne, anyone?” Blaise offered. “I’ll pay the fees. Only for the champagne, though. Not if you want anything else. I’m not _made_ of money."

“Draco needs to stay here,” Harry told them. “In the Ministry.”

“What?” Draco blinked at him. “Why?”

“This is where you’re safest at the moment, and we can keep a good eye on you. Also, they can’t frame you for anything else if you’re here.”

“Hermione’s on her way to come and talk to you.” Ron put his phone in his back pocket. “To discuss what she can do for you and how much it’ll be costing you.”

“Oh, perfect.” Draco nodded. “What time is it? Is there anywhere for us all to sleep?”

“You can stay in here. The couch over there automatically turns into a bed at eight,” Harry said. “I’ll… Come see you. Pansy, Blaise, I’ll show you to another room when you’re all ready to retire.”

“It’s ten-past-six, by the way,” Ron quipped.

“Still early.” Blaise grinned.

“Still time for wine,” Pansy added.

“Don’t suppose they have a liquor cabinet in the Ministry, do they?” Draco asked, aimed at Harry. “You could join us. And you, Ronald. Even Hermione could. I think it’s about time we unwound.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Ron said. “As much as I’d like to, I’m on the job.”

“I’m not,” said Harry. His eyes were fixated on Draco’s face and it would be torture not to gaze back at him. “I can.”

“We can play some games,” Pansy suggested. “That’s always fun.”

“No Veritaserum,” Harry warned her. “I can’t say that you won’t be arrested for that here.”

“Whatever.” She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Arrested. As if. Draco wouldn’t let that happen.”

“Are you under the impression that I have some authority in the Ministry?” Draco asked, almost laughing.

“I’m under the impression that you are currently one of the most interesting people to the one and only defeater of the Dark Lord right now, so, yes.”

“Perhaps.” Draco nodded solemnly and looked back to Harry, his eyebrow raised in a challenge.

“Perhaps,” Harry replied. He sighed with a little smile, shrugging. “I guess I’ll go and get some. But we’re being responsible.”

“If we truly must,” Draco said. “We wouldn’t want anything irresponsible happening now, would we?”

“Well, you shouldn’t start to drink until you’ve spoken with Hermione anyway,” Harry said. “Seriously. It’s going to be imperative to your case.”

“Okay, okay. It better be worth it, you know.”

“I don’t doubt Hermione’s abilities for one second. You shouldn’t either.”

“I really don’t. I’m sure she’s more than capable as a lawyer. However, it might end up that I won’t need to defend myself that much anyway,” he said, and Harry’s mouth opened for a split second, before he looked down and away, rather suspiciously. “What?”

“What?” Harry asked innocently.

“You looked odd.”

“That’s just my face, Draco.”

“No. You looked as if you knew something that I didn’t.”

“I don’t. Not for certain. I’m just... “ He sighed deeply. “I have a pretty bad feeling that Nott’s defence is going to turn this against you as much as they can. To every extent that they can.”

“Let them.” Draco shrugged, apathetic. “They won’t stand a chance.”

“Good answer,” a voice carried through the hallway, soft and pleased. “I think we need a chat.”

“I agree.” Draco nodded to Hermione as she strode towards them. Her skirt swayed around her knees, the delicate blue standing out against the heavy dark pigment of her skin and matching the colour of her jacket. Her hair was wrapped up in a complicated looking bun as to not allow any of the wisps of locks to disturb her vision. She looked truly professional. “You look well."

She bowed her head down partially towards him politely. “You’ve looked better, Draco,” she told him truthfully. One of the arms that was previously pressing a large, hefty-looking book to her chest extended outwards, gesturing towards the victim’s room. “Come, let’s go and talk.”

Draco smiled at her, and then towards Harry, before walking into the room before her. She swiftly followed.

“She looks fantastic,” Blaise noted.

“Watch it,” Ron said. “Before you need a victim’s room yourself, mate.”

 

*

 

“Draco’s case should be an easy one to win,” Hermione explained to their company, complete with Harry, Ron, Pansy and Blaise. Draco sat back, letting her do all of the talking 

“Even though he’s got the Mark?” Ron asked.

“Well, Nott Sr. does as well. If it were a matter of Draco being the only one who bared it, it would be a completely different story.”

“So what would make it easy?” Blaise said.

“Overwhelming amounts of evidence,” she said. “Everywhere. He’s got motive, no alibi, and when the results come back to show that the messages on Twitter were posted by his mobile device, that’s that."

“What do you think he could say to turn it on Draco?” Pansy asked. “Surely it can't be much.”

“Well… We can’t be exactly sure for now, but… It’s possible that he may say that he was spying because he thought that Draco was up to something again, though he really has no right to be saying that. That’ll be easy to tear down. But if he…”

“If he what?” Harry asked. “Hermione?”

“He may suggest to the Wizengamot that he and Draco were working together. Conspiring. That would look devastating for Draco’s case.”

“What? How could– But that wouldn’t make sense, surely?” Harry’s eyebrows were knotted, fists clenched. “That’s bullshit! Draco was the one who was being photographed against his will - he had no idea!”

“The point is, can we prove that?”

“What gain would he have?”

“It may be suggested that it would be to get to you, Harry.”

Harry blinked, so taken aback that he forgot his anger for a split second. “Me?”

“Yes. Draco could’ve feigned this whole thing just so you would show up and get on his case… Perhaps woo you, and then get blackmail material.”

“That’s bullshit,” Harry said again. “He was on Veritaserum when we were talking about it.”

“Didn’t you mention that he said he was skilled in Occlumency?”

Pansy frowned. “You sound as if you’re believing this.”

“I’m not, believe me.” Hermione shook her head, placing her palm on Harry’s arm. She looked back at him. “I know how other lawyers’ minds work, and it’s _devilishly._ I have no doubt that Nott’s lawyer will have her wits about her and use Draco’s past to her advantage.”

“Draco was only a child. That’s why he wasn’t sent to Azkaban in the first place. They can’t use the Mark against him,” Pansy protested.

“It’s not me that you need to convince.” Hermione glared at her. “I’m not sure he’s going to be wanting any partying and wine this evening anymore.”

“Champagne, actually,” Blaise said.

“Fuck yourself, Blaise,” Malfoy replied.

 

*

 

Turns out that Nott Sr had the most shit lawyer that had ever come to exist. When it came down to some interrogation of the git, Harry had come back and reported to them all that the lawyer he’d been given was because he couldn’t afford one himself. The bugger had lost _everything_ , including his fortune. Draco couldn’t be more happy about it.

“The lawyer did shit all for him,” Harry told him, the two of them alone in the victim’s room once again. “She seriously sat there and let him talk his mouth off, contradicting himself every two minutes. They have no case.”

Draco grinned widely, hardly believing his ears. “You’re joking,” he said, and wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck. “That’s brilliant! Thank you.”

“No need to thank me.” Harry chuckled, clearly pleased by the contact. “I think his lawyer is just pissed with the shitty money she’s getting. You know what I’m pissed about?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

“The fact that I’ve not been able to kiss you all day.”

Draco leaned in and kissed him softly, unable to keep himself from smiling against his lips. Harry’s hands on his waist felt comfortable and warm, and he wouldn’t trade it for any of the other hands that have trespassed there before him.

“I’ve never felt like this,” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together. “Not about anybody else. You give me security. You make me feel safe.”

“I’ll help you through this,” Harry replied. “After this has finished, I want to take you out. When all of it’s over and done with, I’m going to ask you to be mine.”

Draco kissed him again in favour against replying, because that was answer enough for them both anyway.

“I probably won’t be a very good date,” Draco told him quietly, their breath mingling and their bodies pressed close. “I’ve never been taken on one. And I may not have much time, you know, with my Healer training and all.”

“I’m more than happy with that, so long as that’s the only reason you’re not able to see me.” Harry pecked his lips again.

“Mm, well you’re not allowed on any more missions, or whatever it is, where you need to stay with the victim. That’ll be Weasley’s responsibility from now on. I’ll need you with me every night.”

Harry laughed with him, his eyes lighting up. “I’ll try my best… But for now?” He smirked at him.

“For now, I’m going to show you just how wonderful it’ll be for you to spend the nights with me when there’s _not_ somebody lurking outside my windows.” He chuckled with him. “And… When I’m not going to be bringing anybody else home.

Harry looked taken aback, for a second. “You want to be exclusive?”

“I know… It may be hard, but I’ve found myself enjoying your company, somehow. And I would like to perhaps give it a shot as well. I want to go through the courts with you.”

“You will anyway,” Harry whispered. “As if I’d leave you to go through that. Come on, let’s get back to Hermione. We need to get your case together.”

 

*

 

 _Fifteen years in Azkaban_ , Draco repeated over and over in his head, stuck in his seat. Hermione was stood up already, seemingly holding back a cheer as she grinned and pat him on the shoulder. He gazed up at her, overwhelmed by the scuttle of the room, the protests of Nott Sr. in the centre of the floor. Nobody listened to him. Draco gracefully accepted her hug, and he could hear Pansy shouting to the Heavens. 

“This is brilliant,” Hermione told him, as if Draco wasn’t aware. “Oh, I’m so happy for you, Draco!”

“Thank you,” he whispered to her. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He was rushed out of the room quickly, before the man could attempt any wandless magic. He didn’t really remember leaving once he was out, though.

“Draco!”

He turned around when he heard his name, and gave a small smile to Pansy and Blaise as they ran to him, and enveloped him in a suffocating hug from both sides.

“We’re over the moon,” Blaise told him. “We were forced out of the room because of this bitch screaming as if she were on a broom.” He flicked Pansy on the head, and Draco laughed.

“Hey!” she protested, yanking her head away from him. “I was just excited!”

“We could tell,” Ronald said as he walked to Hermione’s side, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “Well done, you two.”

Draco didn’t even spare a look towards the Weasley though, instead focussing his attention on the man in front of him. He was wearing an even bigger smile than all of the others put together, and Draco couldn’t resist breaking away from the grip of his two best friends.

He walked to Harry and placed both palms on either side of his face, pulling him in to kiss him before either of them could get a word in. He felt the other man’s hands on his hips, pulling him closer, and he melting against him and the kiss, wishing that he could stay in that one place for the rest of his life.

“So,” Harry whispered against his now moist lips. “How about that date?”

 

*

 

Draco gasped at the contact on his cock, tipping his head back and tightening his grip in the hair of the man between his thighs. His toes curled inwardly and he felt as if he were in a goddamn Heaven. The godliness of the tongue that was blessing him was outstanding and he was worried to wonder about the last time that he'd felt like this. When was the last time that any of his clients had actually cared about how he felt, and whether or not he came? When was the last time that Draco had thought that nothing would ever feel so fantastic again in his life?

He found it outstanding that he did not need to continuously remind himself that this wasn't just any client that he had between his legs. He could never mix up a random client with the man who had just taken him on the best date he'd ever been on in his life. However, the most confusing thing that had occurred afterwards was that he had not expected Draco to put out on the first date. He had not expected Draco to return the favour by dropping to his knees in the nearest alley that they could find. Instead, he had walked Draco back to his house and kissed him gently at the door before Draco just _had_ to invite him to stay the night with him. 

His date pressed him into the bed with care and Draco could feel his body heat up, from his cheeks to his groin. He could've died in the moments where the large hand pressed to his erection and his neck got ravaged by the luxurious mouth that Draco had the privilege of experiencing everywhere. 

"Harry," he moaned when the lips of the man blessed him by wrapping around the tip of his dick. He took rapid breaths when he felt his length dive even deeper into Harry's throat, the man taking it so effortlessly and beautifully that Draco could almost call it art. He was skilled in the art of sucking as well, but there was something about somebody else doing it for him that made him appreciate the action even more. 

"Harry," he whimpered again. His hips subconsciously rose up into his mouth and the warm wetness was spread out all over his cock made him shudder and gasp once again. It was divine to feel like this and Draco suddenly understood; he would pay hundreds of galleons to experience this sensation as well. 

When Draco finally came, Harry swallowed it with no hesitation or difficulty, and he swooped up to give the man a kiss before he could utter another word. He didn't need to ask for Draco to help his own problem out before Draco was climbing on top of him, and they grinned, awestruck at one another.

**Author's Note:**

> if u enjoyed and would like to, [buy me a coffee!](https://ko-fi.com/ggecxo)


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